Side Effects

Chapter Seven: Shade,

*The picture above shows the actor and actresses I have chose as Halia's parents*

Halia's POV

Dad nodded at me when he returned from ushering my friends into my bedroom. I should be worried about how much trouble I may be in, but I can't help thinking about Amelia and Charlotte finally seeing my bedroom.

My mom looked around my living room with disdain, and sat quickly on the couch opposite of me. By my parent's work attire, I note that they have directly taken a flight out here from work. My mom's white heels sunk into the plush pale green carpet. Everything seemed to displease her about my mostly IKEA-ed out house.

Tara Brinley was not a bad person. I knew that, she was in fact a very good person. She'd saved countless lives, worked even more hours, and her job became her life. She was a workaholic, and driven and determined. We were exactly alike.

"Halia, I--I'm sorry. We should have told you more ahead of time that we were coming. We were just checking in your progress, since it has become much better recently. Your therapist said you were happier because of the new friends you've made." She unshifts her crossed legs. "But you have to understand that you can't get close to any of these people in this town. Don't make attachments. You'll be leaving soon enough anyway."

My dad stands next to my mom, puts a hand on her shoulder, and mouths "I'm sorry, she probably sucks right now" to me. I try not to crack a smile and continue looking serious at my mom.

Whenever my mom reprimanded me, it was usually my father who took my side. Even though I understood that my mom didn't mean to hurt me, she did. It was hard being the daughter of such successful people in the government. You're constantly watched, judged, and attacked. That's why I enjoyed putting up one hell of a show.

I looked at my mom's perfectly curled blonde hair, not really focusing on what she was saying anymore, and only nodding along. I knew my dad was doing the same; my mom and I fighting wasn't something new to my family.

My dad, like my mom, was considered immensely respectable. My mom was ice, but he was the fire. He helped with countless operations that saved more lives. He was a field officer, and often went under cover. After 9/11, he realized how essential the new generation was, and founded the sect of the C.I.A. I was apart of; U.C.K., or Undercover Kids. As you could probably tell, my dad enjoyed children and actually knew how to take care of one in particular.

Once done scolding me, my mom reminded me again to behave myself, keep getting good grades and laying low, and making sure I focus on my "goal": get back on the road and away from this small ass town. My dad and mom gathered their suitcases, gave me quick hugs and kisses, and started to leave.

Dad pulled me into another tight embrace while mom cat-walked out the door. "Hey. Hang in there. I support you no matter what you actually do decide with doing yourself, whether it is apart of the government. You need to properly grow up, and realize what you want to be. Don't let mom define you." He picked up his chestnut brown suitcase, weathered down with age, and paused under the door frame. "Oh yeah. Just because this is your house, it doesn't mean you can let boys over all the time. I'm watching you, daughter." My father teases, pointing two fingers at me and pointing them back at his own eyes. He waved goodbye.

Not for the first time, I watch them as they pull up to the sleek company-issued Mercedes limo, watch them as they get in and close the door, watch them as they leave me all alone in this goddamn beautiful house all over again.

I'm all alone again.

Wait...

I close the door firmly shut, and rush up the stairs to my room. I'm not alone.

I grabbed the railing and swung myself left towards the bedrooms. There was a master in here; but I reserved that as my parents room. It didn't feel right to take it, even if they don't even live here. So, I took the biggest room after the master.

I heard shouting and quarrels, then a "oh shit, I think she's coming!" and a "shut up!" at the same time. Way to be quiet, guys. I made the rest of the five feet quickly, eager to be out of one world and into the next. The knob, the typical brass contraption everyone had, was warm to the touch as I turned it and went inside. Before I could see anything drastic, I closed the door behind me and leaned against the door.

The girls were sprawled against my bed, on their phones, trying to not look like they were listening from the door, but they obviously were. Same with the boys, they were sipping their drinks and quietly chatting. I turned my head, look at them quizzically, and couldn't help myself from laughing.

Evan pursed his lips, and looked up at me,"Are you okay Hal? Need to talk about it with anyone?" He then continued to gesture to Logan.

Logan.

Remembering what he said to me previous to my parent's arrival, I knew talking to him would make me feel much better. I sat on the floor next to Logan, took his beer, and took a big swig. It hurt me when he said those words; it reminded me of my mom in a way.

Logan put an arm around me, then leaned in to whisper in my ear,"I'm sorry". I turned to see his eyes, and the usual bright blue of his eyes were instead a stormy steel grey. Giving him a tight smile, I hoped my eyes would do the rest of the talking.

"Yeah. My parents are usually super busy and don't come home too much, because of their jobs. Usually, they tell me ahead of time when they're coming home. But, today suddenly opened up and they decided to not tell me. When I saw that they were coming, I freaked the fuck out. Not because I'm hiding being your friends or anything, I just have to live up to the expectations of my parents." At that point, Charlotte and Amelia had sat on the floor as well during my speech. Amelia smacked Logan's arm away from my shoulder so that her and Charlotte could hug me instead.

"We get it." Wes said."My parents are the exact same way. Never home. So yeah, I do take that to the advantage."

The rest of the guys and Charlotte all agreed, but the air was still intense. I felt conflicted at the mention of my life before and how I should work back towards it. I knew it was my duty to my country that should motivate me, but was that really what I still wanted?

Just this one summer, one more school year, and I'm back home. Where I belong.

I sat there with my new friends, laughing at their jokes and participating in their conversation, but the thoughts of where I did belong haunted me for the rest of the night.