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✯ E V E L Y N ✯
"What's up?"
My eyes roll so far back into my head that I see stars for a split second. I'm grateful my back is turned to him so I won't have to show my red eyes. I'm sitting on my bed, throwing my bouncy-ball against the wall and catching it. It helps me de-stress, keep my thoughts at bay and drift from reality.
"The sky," I retort, counting my way up to six thousand and fifty-seven hits on the wall. My wrist hurts from going at it for four hours straight, but I persevere. "The ceiling. Crime rates in most countries. Death rates in poorer countries."
From the reflection of my floor-length mirror, I see Charlie's shoulders droop slightly, his tall frame leaning against the doorway. "The whole purpose of the question was for you to tell me how you're feeling or what you're doing. Not answer with a smart-ass remark," he tells me, but he doesn't sound the slightest bit mad.
"Well then, maybe you should have worded it differently." And I'm just full of smart-ass remarks. I'm such a smart-ass that I even failed to kill myself. I throw the ball against the wall one last time as I reach six thousand and ninety-ninety, and turn on my bed to face him. "Is there a reason why you came? I was kind of in the middle of something."
"Yeah, I could tell you were really busy banging on the wall for hours on end," Charlie replies, his light blue eyes filled with amusement. "Anyway, I just wanted to tell you I talked to your mother."
"About what?" I shoot him a skeptical look, turning the small ball around in my hands. "About how she treats me like a child? About how she has this obsession to need to know where I am, 24/7? About how dogs on leashes have more freedom than me?"
Charlie sighs heavily, rubbing the space between his eyebrows and pushes back his blond hair. There are strands of grey hair amongst the golden strands, courtesy of me. Honestly, I should just die already. I'm already causing enough stress, by the time I'm legal they'll look old enough to be my grandparents.
"Evelyn, you need to know that we're trying to do what we think is right," he pleads, his relaxed posture gone and replaced with the shell of the dad he used to be. I've never seen someone look so vulnerable in my whole life. "But . . . Eva and I agreed - well, more like I convinced her to see - that we're not giving you the space you need."
"No shit," I mutter as I recall what went down three days ago after I walked out on Dr. Paige.
I swore as I entered the Pacific Heights neighborhood and saw a police car in the driveway of house No. 32 in our - my parents' house. I shoved my hands into my pockets, hissing as a drizzle of rain threatened frizz up my hair. I could still taste the delicacies I ate with Lio.
I braced myself, side-stepping the police car that had its lights flashing but thankfully its sirens off, and walked into the house.
