Changes

Chapter 12

I let myself fall on the couch. It had been a long day and I was absolutely exhausted. My plan was to be as productive as a sack potatoes.

Everyone had been talking about the bet and how fast it was going, since Eric had managed to add ten new names to the list that week.

It was infuriating to see his stupid smirk on his stupid face every time he walked into class after going to the "toilet" for fifteen fucking minutes. He didn't even have to hold up fingers anymore, everyone already knew what he had been up to. You would immediately hear the sound of pencils writing down on paper when that door opened. Everyone was holding score, including some of the teachers.

A few jocks had made a website where you could see the everyday growing list. How they were able to find out the names of the girls was a mystery to me, because Eric never told who he had done it with. That he kept silent.

What he did not keep silent were the moans of the girls. It was like the dude was fucking everyone everywhere. I would hear them in empty classrooms, closets, locker rooms - I was still traumatised by that - and even outside.

Because that's what you want to encounter when you're searching for a nice place on the grass.

It had become permanent background noise for me.

I was about to close my eyes when the phone began to ring. I groaned and covered my ears. Because frankly, I was too lazy to get up and answer the phone.

It kept ringing.

With a sigh, I got up and answered the phone.

"Hello?"

No one responded.

"Hello?" I asked again, fear starting to spark in me.

"Hannah?" a deep rough voice said. "Is that really you? It's been such a long time since I've heard your voice."

I held the phone away from my ear and looked at it.

What is happening?

The voice somehow sounded familiar.

"Hannah are you still there?"

I placed the phone at my ear again.

"Sorry, but who is this? I think you've got the wrong number."

Sniffling sounds responded me, as if the person on the other side was crying.

"Hannah, my little girl," the voice, thick with emotion, answered. "You don't remember me do you? Your mother told you nothing about your old man, did she."

Who the hell does he think he is? He's probably confused.

I took a deep breath to keep my cool.

"You really got the wrong number here, buddy. My father's dead."

I had grown up without a father. It had always been my mother, who had taken care of me. I used to get sad about it, not having both parents in my life. Kids used to ask where my father was and I always had no answer. My mom was my father in a way, I would always give my Father's Day crafts to her.

The first time I had gathered the courage to ask where my father was, my mom had responded that he had died in a car accident while driving drunk. I was five at the time and had no idea what drunk meant, but assumed it wasn't good.

Mom would show me videos and photos of before I was born. They apparently had made a few of when they would go to check on me, the baby, and see how I was doing in the belly.

I would always watch in awe at the tv where a video of my dad would be playing, where he was pointing at fetus me, saying that he would always protect me from harm and "shoo the boys away." He had such a warm and deep voice. It used to calm me, listening to it after I had had a nightmare.

The man on the phone laughed humourlessly.

"Of course she would say that."

That voice-
Could it be?

"What's your name again?"

"It's Michael Jacobs," he responded.

I stayed silent.

Your father is dead, Hannah. Don't open old wounds. There are plenty of other Micheal Jacobs's out there.

"Look, meet me at Micheal's cafe on Sunday," the man continued. "I'll explain everything."

I heard a click and then nothing. He had hung up. I sat down on the couch, shocked at what just had happened.

My mind was racing with thoughts. Should I go see him? What if he's a pedophile? How big is the chance of him being my actual dad?

After sitting there for a few minutes, staring into nothingness, I decided that I needed to clear my head and go outside. It was mostly to buy comfort food, but I thought that the fresh air could maybe help me clear things up a little bit.

I hadn't decided yet if I was going to see this strange man, who had claimed to be my father. My mind went to my mom and the possibility of her making up the story she had told me for years.

She wouldn't lie about my father, right?

I got up, grabbed my keys and put on a thin jacket, while my favourite band was blasting in my ears.

Slowly, I walked to the local supermarket, my head some elsewhere.

Suddenly, I collided with something hard. Which caused me to painfully land on my butt.

"Ah great, now my flat ass is even flatter than before," I muttered under my breath, while struggling to get up.

I looked up and saw a big grey pole standing a few inches away. I let out a frustrated groan.

Ugh, why me?

My clumsy ass hadn't been paying attention and had walked into a pole.

"Need a hand?"

A hand appeared in front of me. I followed the hand and saw that the hand was attached to a muscular arm.

I raised my head a little more and came face to face with the boy I had seen countless of times this week.