Wake me

4: Arguments

Although the Monday morning was indeed a very eventful and enjoyable one, the evening was not so great. I lay slumped in my bed, a book in my hand. I was reading, but not paying attention to the words in front of me. My mind was elsewhere- somewhere I couldn't quite grasp. Flashbacks kept hitting me, and I tried to block out the eerie screech of car tires or the blood curdling screams that ricocheted through my mind, but they echoed until they had passed through my entire body. My skin crawled and I set the book down, rubbing my arms up and down until the bumps disappeared and I was left with nothing but an empty feeling inside. I ran my fingers through my blond hair and pulled my jersey closer to me. Outside, I could heard Father's rumbling car engine come to a stop, and shortly after, the front door was unlocked and pushed open. "I'm home!" Was his usual announcement, and he did just that. I got up, my legs slightly shaky, and headed over to the dining room where he was unpacking his files and documents from the day into his cabinet. He looked up at me, "Oh hello dear! How was your day?" Before I could answer, Margie came skipping through the kitchen door with a beam on her face. "Oh it was lovely, Sir! Grace over here took me to a neat little cafe for coffee, and a shop with some old music and oh it was fantastic." Margie skipped out as quickly as she had come, relaxing she had interrupted my father and I. He laughed, and said, "Is that so, Grace? Did you have fun, like Margie?"
"Yes, it was nice." I said softly, fiddling with a loose hem on my tracksuit pants.
"That's good!" Father agreed, standing up and closing the cabinet with a thump. He dusted his hands, "Now, I must get your mothers work for her-"
"Where is she? She was supposed to be home an hour ago." I stated.
"She had an appointment." Father said dismissively, swatting with his hand as if to get rid of the subject.
"An appointment with who? An attorney? An estate agent? A doctor..." I grimaced at the last option.
"Not a doctor... But a chemist, yes." He sighed, fearing my reaction. I felt the color drain inch by inch from my skin, and my palms began to feel clammy as they were pressed against my fingers. I stood there stiffly, my hands help firmly at my thin sides, my hair falling into my now very pale face. "Bu-but why? Is she sick?" I stammered, part of me hoping she was sick, so that I wasn't the one getting the pills. But by the grave and serious look and my fathers worked face, it seemed as if mom was not sick and I was the person who was affected by this.
"Let's  go talk in your bedroom, rather." Father began to say in a hushed tone.
"No." I said firmly, keeping my hands clenched nervously at my sides. "We can talk here."
"Grace, dear," he cleared his throat, "You must understand that your mother and I want the very best for you."
"Do you?" I murmured, looking away from my father as he rested a hand on my shoulder.
"Grace," he started again, "Your mother and I have been talking, and we think that it would be best for you to continue with normal life. You can't stay here locked up all day, it's bad for you health let alone your recovery, physically and mentally. The nurses and doctors agree that it would most certainly help you if you got back into college again and continued with your studies. It will give you something to think about and to keep you distracted, and you can make new friends and maybe get better opportunities." I couldn't bare to look into my fathers eyes at that moment.
"Dad," I trembled, "You don't get it."
"Grace, please. We are doing this for you. Mom went to buy you some anti-depressants, and some other pills, that'll really boost you, dear-"
"Have you ever lost a sister?" I cried out, tears strangling me.
Father looked at me, his eyes slightly red, his lips set in a firm line. He shook his head slowly.
"Have you ever lost a best friend?" I said again, a tear sliding down my cheek. Again, he shook his head and said my name but I continued.
"Have you ever lost a soulmate?" I said, my knees buckling underneath me.
"Dear..." He said, his  eyes becoming puffy although no tears fell.
"Then who are you to tell me I must understand?" I murmured, afraid that if I spoke a tiny bit louder that tears would gush down my face.
"Because I have lost a daughter," he sobbed, "and I don't want to lose one again."
"You aren't going to lose me! I am still here, aren't I? Let me be, please. I need time." I shivered, shrugging his firm hand off my shoulder.
"Time, Grace, is money. The college sent us a letter- if you want to rejoin, you have to do so in the next month otherwise they're giving your dorm to someone else." Father sighed, I knew he hated having these conversations as much as I did.
"I'm not ready." I said firmly, pulling away from him and wiping my nose on my jersey sleeve.
"Neither am I, Grace! But do this for us, do it for yourself. Do it for Luke!" He said calmly. But I turned away before he finished the rest of his sentence. With a step forward, I said, "If you send me to college, you're going to lose your last daughter."
And he didn't respond, because he knew that in a way, it was true.