❝I don't know what you went through, and I know we aren't going to go back to where we were for a long time, maybe even ever. But if I knew that you were about to go through the worst time of your life, I wouldn't have left. I swear.❞
Catherine Bell...
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↳ Tuesday
Oct. 11th ↵
I woke up to the sound of my alarm. I shielded my eyes from the sun streaming in through the dusty windows. I forced myself to sit up, my feet touching the cold wooden floor. Curse the fall weather.
I ran through my daily routine: makeup, clothing, hygienics. My dad was cooking eggs and making toast. He looked over to me to find that I had my backpack already slung over my shoulder.
"I woke up early and got some groceries," he told me, raising his pan a little to show me the sizzling scrambled eggs.
"Oh, that's nice dad, but I was going to go to Pop's with Jughead," I confessed to him.
He lowered his pan back onto the stove, seeming a little upset.
"Jughead, huh?" He mumbled.
Oh man. Why is my dad so tough when it comes to boys?
"We're just getting breakfast, dad," I assured. "It's only for today."
He just nodded. "Well, just be careful. I don't want to have to get out my shotgun," he warned.
"Dad!" I rolled my eyes. "You know Jughead. I'll be fine."
"Oh, I remember him. He almost set fire to your elementary school. Remember that?" He pointed his spatula at me. I couldn't take him seriously when he pointed a spatula at me.
"We were six, dad. We-"
I looked at the time to see it was 7:07 A.M. and cut my sentence short.
"I have to go," I told him. "I'll help unpack later, okay?"
He just quietly nodded, giving me the cold shoulder. I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and ran to the door. "Love you, dad!"
"Love you too, kid."
I opened the door to find Jughead sitting on my steps. He turned to see me and smiled.
"I thought you forgot about me," he joked around.
"Never in a million, Juggy," I assured. "How long were you out here?"
He pushed himself off of the stair he was sitting on, before stretching his hands in the air.
"Uh, seven minutes?"
He looked at his phone, then saying "Eight."
I grinned and shook my head, walking down the stairs with him. I shoved my hands in my pocket, feeling the cold air of autumn.
"So how's your dad doing?" I asked Jug.
"Fine," he sharply responded. I could tell he didn't want to talk about it, so I dropped it.
