Dragged Apart

Chapter Three

           

I parked my car, and looked up at the house, shrouded in shadow. I sat still for a few seconds, and imagined my parents, exhausted and weary, no doubt fretting over where I'd been. I could picture my mother's head buried in her hands, my dad pacing restlessly, the two of them watching the hands of the clock dance. Then would come the confrontation, the questioning. My tired, apologetic explanation for their worry. Their curt, dignified acknowledgement of my independence. The pursed lips, the disappointed eyes, the shake of their heads. Then the simple request for me to go to my room. The silence. The expectat of some great punishment in my future.

Except I would never experience that. Sure, I was home a little later than usual, but my parents trusted me. My friends were always astounded by my parents' leniency, and more than a little afraid; but I was glad for it—it was, after all, what had allowed me to visit Jack all this time. And it's not like I cared what anyone thought of my family; Jack was the only person whose opinion had mattered to me. Still matters to me.

I opened the car door, shut it with a bang. I walked up to the door, accompanied by a fuzzy shadow. I dug in my pocket for the key; it turned in the lock smoothly. The house was dark, sleeping. All the lights switched off. I quietly shuffled out of my coat, and slipped out of my shoes. I made my way to the kitchen, my socks barely making a sound on the soft carpet. I turned on the light and grabbed a glass from the rack in one fluid, comfortable motion before swiping my hand to turn on the tap.

And stared.

The water kept falling, overflowing my glass. It spilled over my hand, cold fury. I made no move to withdraw my hand, or turn off the tap. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

The sink was filled with dirty dishes, the congealed contents grinning up at me. A smashed glass lay in pieces on the desktop, surrounded by a club of mugs, the old tea now watery and cold.

This was bad. This was very bad.

I swiped my hand across the tap, my thirst having vanished, and ran out of the room. I ducked my head into the living room—it was as tidy as ever, but there was nobody in it. I stepped into the Hoist, and moved up to the second floor, ignoring the sickening sensation in my stomach. I decided to check my sisters room first.

I ducked into her room, scanning for clues. All appeared well; the bed was neatly mussed, the covers gently folded back, the fluffy pink pillows lined up against the bedhead.

What the hell was going on?

A shiver ran down my back. I ran across to my parent's room, and was greeted by silence. The bed sheet had been tucked in with meticulous fingers, all doors, windows and cupboards firmly closed. I lean against the doorframe, willing for some movement, some indication that I wasn't alone.

There was no  way... Had I been found out? But I hadn't done anything—and even if I had, the Council wouldn't hurt my family, would they...?

A hot flush seemed to grow behind my eyes. I blinked furiously—I was not going to cry again—and made my way to my bedroom. I found myself praying on the way; please let them be ok, let it be a joke, a surprise, a prank, let them be ok, I swear I'll change, I'll pray more often, be a better person, just let them be ok...

I stood outside my closed door, my senses on overdrive. It was quiet, but a different type of quiet—was that a snore?

I push the door forward in excitement, and find a figure sleeping in my bed, a shock of black hair spread across my pillow. I force myself to feel grateful—thank you, lord, praise you—before gritting my teeth in annoyance.