Walking With The Outcast

Chapter 23 - Lucilia

The date was perfect. It had romance, fun, and most importantly, an attentive date. Ace, despite his nervousness with talking, has a way with words. And the implication that he wants to drop everything and run away from this small town with me was not lost to me. That thought and the hope that followed affected me so strongly that I had almost asked him if we could. But then reality came crashing in, and I remembered everything that we would have to leave behind: Queenie, my parents–despite the tension between us–, Ethan, our homes, school.

It just isn't possible, my mind said.

But you want to, my heart cried.

For a split second that night, I was inclined to forego logic.

Then the war waging within came to a close when I remembered the good times here. Yes, life is not perfect here, but who's to say that elsewhere will be? And we will not be in this town forever. One day at the end of this year, Ace and I will graduate and then maybe, we will leave this place without running. We can leave what haunts me and terrorizes Ace, whatever that may be. I look forward to that day with a fervor that cannot be described.

The sight of my driveway sends me wishing for a little while longer away from home, but I know that the outcome is inevitable. Also, at this point, my parents are probably overcome with anger and worry when they discovered my disappearance from the house.

A hand grasps mine. "Do you want me to come in?"

"Yes," I whisper. "I don't want to do this alone."

"Okay."

I land on the driveway with a crunch, my feet disrupting the pebbles that found their way onto the concrete. The whole way up the path, stairs, and into the foyer I listen to my footsteps. They're quiet, as if hoping that the more silent we are, the less likely this confrontation has to occur. What a vain hope.

When the door makes a clicking sound behind us, only then do I hear the unmistakable noise of feet clattering across the hardwood floor. My parents rush in from the living room, and I take note of the deep lines marring their foreheads. Mom's brown eyes, a shade darker than mine, stare at us in worry, and she rushes forward, her arms searching for the hug I am not inclined to give. I step back from her affection and straight into the chest of the one person who has not left me because of the incident. The hurt on her face causes a small ball of regret fill in my throat, but I can't hug her. Not until I know what I did to make them leave.

"We need to talk," I say, and I'm surprised by the flat tone of my voice. However, I know it is what I do when I'm feeling hurt but don't want my voice to break. Sometimes, no inflection is the best indication of someone's mistakes. In this case, my parents'.

They both wince at my tone, and a very small part of me–the one filled with bitterness, hurt, and vindictiveness– smiles at the fact that they are at least feeling a minute amount of my pain. However, when I realize that, the ball of guilt and regret grows bigger and all I want is to grovel for their forgiveness and love. All I want is to have my family back.

I walk into the living room, take a seat on the couch closest to the exit, and watch the three file in behind me. Ace sits beside me, and my dad frowns harshly at him. He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. "Ace stays." Then I speak to Ace, "But no talking, please."

Ace leans in to whisper. "But glaring is okay, right?"

I elbow him, and he mutters a soft apology. Then I turn to my parents, who watch the exchange with differing expressions. My mother carries a soft, endearing look, while my father sports a glare almost as dirty as the one Ace sends him. "Speak," I command in a firm tone. I refuse to be the first one to explain because I know that I will break down if I do. Already I feel my chest ache with the pain of their absence.