Point A

Chapter 3

Life's funny, things change, people change but you will always be you. So stay true to yourself and never sacrifice who you are for someone else

- Zayn Malik.

*   *   *

I remember being told that life was completely unpredictable. That lives cannot be compared, nor can the way they are interlinked be expected to be fair. If you lost once, you couldn't guarantee peace in the future because of the magnitude of your loss.
That night, I didn't just lose a father, I lost a life. My hopes, dreams, aspirations and everything I knew to be me burnt along with the unaware soul of my father.

I watched the horrid flames twisting and turning, the intensity of their blinding glow changing every second, and engulfing what was left of the house, my home. Our home.
I don't remember being aware of much that evening. I was a walking, breathing unconscious picture of a heart broken teenage girl. After driving back home and finding it ablaze, the fire brigade arrived seconds after and I couldn't bear to watch them carry the souless body that was my father out of the house. So I left before they could.

Morgan was there the whole time. She hugged me as I cried for a loss I had never fathomed grieving and after a few minutes of crying by the curb in her solid arms, she led me back to my car and got into the driver's side.

To say I was out of it is an understatement. Curled up in the back seat, I closed my eyes and let the pain take over once again, welcoming the unwelcome loss of another parent. I faintly remember Morgan stopping at a red light and looking over at me, before I drifted off to sleep.
I love you dad, I love you.

*   *   *

When I woke up the next morning, my head was pounding and my eyes were so swollen, that they could only open to slits. I was completely aware of what happened the night before, believe me, I was.
But my mind wasn't ready to think about it.
Instead I pushed up against the pillows and sat up, looking around.

I was on a bed centered in a small room. It was very bare : a small dressing table across the room with a landline connector on it and a small mirror. There were two closed doors, one which I assumed led out to the bathroom and the walls were painted a demure baby blue color. The lacy white curtains allowed sufficient light in to see the entire room.
Morgan must have checked us into a motel for the night.

I turned and placed my feet onto the brown carpeted floor of the small motel room and stretched my back, yawning and standing up.
  I saw a figure move in the corner of my eye and turned abruptly to meet the exhausted, burning eyes of that same guy on the balcony.

He was in the same jeans from last night, but this time, paired up with a Grey shirt. His hair was disheveled and he was slumped on the ground in the corner of the room, watching me carefully.
I gulped and looked down at my clothes, suddenly feeling self conscious. I still had my pyjama dress and socks on, but my jacket was nowhere to be seen. I glanced at the mirror quickly and sighed when I saw my reflection. I had swollen eyes, bed hair, sleep lines and dry chapped lips.

"What are you doing here?" I finally asked the boy whose fized gaze was boring into my form.

He scoffed and averted his eyes before placing his head between his legs. Ignoring his absent reply, I walked toward the bathroom, prepared to freshen up.
From the corner of my eye I could see him watching me again.