My chest is tight, and it's then that I realize I've been holding my breath since I walked up my driveway.
"Seriously, Georgia Cook, if you don't show me some sort of affection, I will get off this couch and make you," he threatens.
Point taken. I oblige robotically. I don't even feel like it's really happening. Someone pinch me. Let me know this is not real.
He hugs me, and the sigh that he let's out sounds like a growl.
"Look at you, G! All grown up." I nod. Yep, sure. Whatever you say. "Say something, will ya?"
Say something? What do I say? My God, what do I do? I feel like my soul and mind were scared away completely, and my body was left behind. What do I say? I say, "Why are you here?"
Oh no. Oh, God no.
You've always got to ask questions, don't you, Georgia?
"Why am I here? Georgia Cook, I don't believe that's the way you greet your father you haven't seen for seven years." He snatches my arm. "Try again."
Again, my mind left my body for dead. There's no filter, barrier, or thought process anymore. Just me, just my empty shell of a person.
"What are you doing in my house, Jeff?" I ask again. The great part about the situation was that he is a whole lot more patient. Seven years ago, he would have hit me a bit sooner.
The man takes me by both my shoulders and pushes me into the couch. He mutters incoherant swears under his breath, and when I think he's composed himself, the second I thought he changed, he punches me.
I'm not sure where at first. My face is throbbing, that much I can tell. And the world as I know it is very intent on me puking. The room is spinning, and my vision is spotty.
He grabs me by the hair. "I'll be upstairs." Then he throws me back into the cushions of my sweet, little couch.
Me: Mom, Jeff is...
I passed out before I could finish the text.
*~*~*~*
When I woke up, I was still on the couch. Mom wasn't home yet, and Jeff was gone.
6:27 a.m.
I stumble off the couch and up the stairs to take a shower and watch a YouTube tutorial on how to cover up a bruise. Then I walk to school, which kind of sucked because I still felt my heartbeat in my face. And I couldn't see straight.
Well. The show must go on. I take a last look at myself in my phone screen. My cheek doesn't look too bad. It's a little swelled up, but it's not terrible.
"Wow, Cook. Your face looks like a hot air balloon and 99-cent store makeup had sex," says the blonde as she and her minions pass me by.
Okay. Maybe it does look that bad. There's nothing I can do about it now though. I put my hood over my head and march into first period.
Adam is staring right at the door as I walk through it, like he was waiting for someone. And with how his back straightens, I know he was waiting for me. I hate the way he's looking at me; I hate that he already knows that something isn't right.
I take my seat. "I was trying to climb the tree, and this time I wasn't so fortunate," I tell him. "I'm fine."
He twists in his seat and stares at me harder. "Like hell you are," he mutters.
"I'm fine, Adam."
It's no use. He already knows.
Adam grabs my hand and drags me out of class and to his car. We drive to his house... At least I think it's his house... If it's even considered a house.
The place is huge. The front yard was something you'd see in movies. It was gorgeous, the entire exterior of the place. But the inside. The inside was beautiful. Absolutely stunning.
"How?" I ask, looking down at my reflection in his floor.
"Adoption." Adam is adopted. Oh God. "Monkey, who did that to your face?"
What a way to change the subject. I didn't answer his question. I kept running my hands over his expensive sculptures and heading farther into the depths of his home.
"You never told me you were adopted," I say back, my hand trailing over a small, meditating Buddha.
Two can play at this game.
"My biological father's in prison. My mother is dead, and so are her relatives. I thought maybe you'd have considered it. I guess not."
Hm. Not much I can say to that.
"What happened, Georgia?"
Not much I want to say to that.
"The tree, Adam," I tell him, adamant on him just leaving it all alone. It's not the first time I've been hit.
"Georgia." He puts his hands on my shoulders too, but he's gentle. I still flinch, but I relax when I realize he's not going to throw me on a couch. "Who did it?"
He'll never stop asking. I breath in my thoughts and exhale my answer. "My dad came back," I say. And a tear rolls down my cheek. "He's back."
The tears become frequent, and soon enough I'm wailing into Adam's t-shirt. I'm a mess. Yes, it was not the first time I had been hit, but it still hurt. It hurt a lot.
Adam holds me close. He doesn't say anything special. He just hugs me and brushes his hand across my back. The comfort is so mesmerizing, I nearly fall asleep and forget everything completely. The things he does to me.
"Do you want food?" he asks me when my cries die down.
I sniffle and nod. I don't just want food, I need it. So I sit on his sofa as he goes into his unnecessarily large kitchen and fetches me something to eat. He comes back with two cartons of ice cream. My God.
I muster up a weak smile, but believe me, I'm ecstatic. "Mm... mint chocolate chip," I moan, the tablespoon sliding off my tongue and back into the ice cream.
"That one's my favorite." He shows me his carton, which is the same one as mine. Then he turns on The Little Mermaid. My heart explodes. Disney movies?
"You're amazing, you know," I say.
"Of course I am."
Okay. I'll let that one slide. It doesn't stop me from rolling my eyes.
"I think I love you."
YOU ARE READING
Curious Georgia |✔
Ficção Adolescente"I'm not sure if you want to know. Because, if you know, you might want to forget immediately." After being abused by her father seven years ago, Georgia Cook was afraid of being hurt again. Her day-to-day routine was uniform, and it didn't include...
