Grey

Chapter Twenty

 “Happy Birthday to you,” a voice was singing. I smelt syrup. I rolled over in the bed.

“Ugh,” I muttered, pulling the covers over my head.

“Happy Birthday dear Violet. Happy Birthday to you,” he continued singing. I opened my eyes and threw the covers off of my head to see Grey with a plate of waffles covered in butter and syrup, a candle sticking out of the middle.

I giggled, sitting up. “Happy Birthday,” he said, pecking my cheek. I blew out the candle and smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“You're eighteen!” he enthused, picking the candle out.

I sighed, rubbing my hands over my tired eyes. I felt so much older than eighteen. “Today's the day,” I whispered.

Today I was going to march up to my house, pack my things in boxes, and say goodbye until they could forgive him, forgive me, and forgive themselves. He kissed my temple. “It's all going to be okay.”

I ate the waffles he made me before I showered and dressed myself. In the meantime, Grey was taking boxes from the garage and loading them into his truck. I met him downstairs. “ I can't do this,” I breathed, tears forming in my eyes. I felt like I was going to go into shock, my hand pressed into my chest.

He finished loading the boxes and looked at me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “You're fine. I'll be right there with you the whole time.” A few tears slipped down my face as I slid into the passenger side of his truck with shaking hands and knees.

“What if they won't let us in? What if they threaten us or something? Grey, are you not concerned about any of this?” I was talking a mile a minute, the window open, blowing my hair behind me as my lips quivered. Grey gripped my hand, I gripped it back.

He smiled. “Quite frankly, I don't give a shit what your parents say or think. I've got the girl of my dreams right here and I'm not letting her go. Not again. Not this time,” he said through clenched teeth, sneaking a peak at me.

I was a mess from the moment we left his house to the moment we pulled in front of mine. We got out of the car, grabbing all the folded boxes with us. The front door opened, my father was standing in the doorway, his arms crossed. “Is mom here?” I asked breathlessly, peering over his shoulder.

He sighed. “She's at the store. There's no telling when she'll be back,” he replied, his eyes sliding over Grey. “Michael.”

“Mr. Miller,” Grey breathed, following me into the house. We headed upstairs and I walked into my abandoned room that hadn't been touched since I was gone. Grey pulled out the packaging tape from his back pocket and began setting up boxes while I pulled clothes out of drawers.

A few moments later Grey taped up the first box and labeled it clothes as I started on the second one, my father in the doorway. “I'm not mad,” he said.

I looked at him for a second before pressing jeans into the box. “Really?” I asked.

“If you're happy, I'm happy. I can't say the same about your mom,” he muttered, scratching his head. “I'll take that box down to the truck, Michael.”

Grey was silent as he handed the first box to my dad who started walking down the stairs. I handed the second full box to Grey who taped it up and set it off to the side. I was waiting for the arrival of my mother, anxious. Halfway through the third box, the front door burst open.

“Are they here?” my mom's voice asked from downstairs, full of anger. I looked at Grey and continued filling up the box as Grey began clearing off my dresser. Footsteps carried up the stairs and she was in the doorway of my room in a second, breathless. We were all silent as we filled up boxes, our eyes anywhere but her. “I told you that you weren't welcome in this house.”