Strangely enough, the week is going quicker than usual. It could be for the fact that I've pushed away the very few things that mean the most to me, or maybe just because skipping out on school has become my rebellious daily routine. Thursday morning, my Dad wakes me up late, letting me sleep in. He comes in around 9am and asks me to come downstairs. I abide by this because frankly, I'm in total shock. Things like this usually don't occur in this household. Not since Mom passed. When she was here, she'd come pouncing in my room like a small child. She'd scream, "Wake up, sleeping prince! It's time for the day's new comings!" Every morning she would say this. And every time I went to school happy to see the day, but it's different now.
I haven't heard a thing from Jade yet. I honestly can't handle to think about it. I've shattered everything up until now, like glass on the sidewalk. Angela bombarded my phone with messages and calls last night but I ignored every last one of them. I'm not a child’s doll that she gets to boss around.
After grabbing a pair of sweats as well as a plain, gray sweater, I head downstairs. I find my Dad waiting patiently in the foyer with his fingers linked creating a fist in front of him. He's squeezing his eyes so tight I think he may rip his eyelids from the skin covering his face.
"Brone, please sit down. We need to talk about a few things,” he says to me softly. I slowly round the corner and sit in the chair diagonal him. I slide my shirt over my head before sitting.
"I know her death is taking its toll on you, as it's only been close to a year since she’s been gone. But, that gives you no excuse to go out doing who knows what."
I just look at him. I can't tell if he's angered, in pain, annoyed. He's so much harder to read than my mother was. No wonder people say I'm just like my father. We both conceal everything inside us.
"Look, Dad. I haven't been doing everything that you believe I am. Honestly. Angela has needed my help in a few... situations. Then this dick at-"
"Language, Brone. You're not totally off the hook,” he says in a warning but joking tone.
"This jerk, decides to remonstrate with me and apparently attempts to beat the crap out of me. So, if you're wondering why I socked him right in the face, it's because the guy is a douche bag. Excuse my French,” I tell him. I make an unintentional joke, to sort of lighten the mood because my Dad knows I love French and I just used it in a different form... just. Whatever. Yeah.
Il pense d'encore. Il répond. (He thinks awhile. He responds.)
"Well then, all I can say is that he deserved it then. How hard did you hit 'em?"
"Pretty hard,” I tell him as we both laugh a little.
"Good. Good. I thought maybe this weekend we could go out to the newest antique shop just outside of town? I've heard a few people talking about it and I thought maybe it would be fun. Hate to sound too fatherly, but maybe it could be father and son bonding time. I know your insides are just cringing at the sound, ha ha.” he says shaking his head. “We can even do a bit of Christmas shopping if you’d like, since it is just around the corner.”
YOU ARE READING
Story of A Lonely Guy
Mystery / ThrillerA girl. It only takes one for Brone’s life to go ripping at the seams, down the line of stitches like it was never strong enough to uphold life, let alone his. She takes wrong turns and he’s led right back to her. But she was never the one he wanted...
