I Can't Own You? (BOOK 1)

71 (NEW)

I didn't like returning to the house in the morning. My soul and gut screamed at me, go back, stay away! Someone will get hurt!

Fortunately, my dad reported the situation to the police department, who sent out a squad car as an escort.

Walking into the house is like visiting a ghost town. It had been days since someone was here. I notice that my mom is unsteady. Maybe her thoughts are like mine? Maybe she jumped at small sounds because she feared that an intruder was here?

No one speaks...as if it would give us away and lead to horror. Even the grandfather clock ticked faintly. Sam and my Dad quietly examine the downstairs, scanning the living room, dining, bathroom, and kitchen, all while holding shotguns. Sam moves with a crutch under one arm; he barely struggles...perks of being a former football player, I guess.

The floorboards creak. I hold my breath...half expecting a man in black to jump out. My eyes skitter. I want to say something to break the ice, but I feel it would taboo our positions.

Just pack our stuff is leave....just pack our stuff and leave. I repeat in my mind.

Once the downstairs is scouted, Sam and my dad ascend upstairs. Again Sam does this with ease, even though my dad places an arm behind him as a safety net.

My mom and I wait, breathing lightly as their footsteps creak the ceiling above our heads. "Oh...Cheeto." Mama breaks the silence, leaving to the living room to the basement door. She halts before turning the knob. "Cheeto!!" Barking from beyond the door makes her turn the knob., the prattling of paws follows before the door is fully opened. Cheeto licks at mama's jeans, wagging his tail.

"It's all clear!" My dad yells, bringing normalcy back into the home.

Upstairs, in my bedroom, I pack the suitcase that I came with. Most of the clothes I brought were worn already and needed washing. There's no time for that, deal with it. I separate the worn from the unworn, realizing that I loaded so many items. Close to three dozen pairs. Why the hell did I bring so much?? I fire at my old actions.

I narrow down the clothing, now five of each, shirts, jeans, boxers and hygiene products. Instead of pulling a suitcase of bricks, it now feels like feathers are within.

When I check in on Sam, I find him sitting on the guest bed, rolling up jeans and shirts and tucking them into a suitcase. His clothes were barely worn; I spot tags and stickers still on some jeans. I swear I needed a new outfit on each day, where Sam could do one for 3 days.

"I'm done, slow-poke." I poke.

Sam smirks without looking at me. "You'll probably add something else in."

"Nope." I stand in the doorway, my hands on my hip. "Don't take too much; we probably won't be at the Rez for long."

"What makes you think that?"

I enter the room, glancing down the hall as I do. "We're leaving...that way there's less trouble. Maybe the cops can protect the house for a few extra days."

"So, you want to leave them?" This puzzles him.

"No, I don't want to, I have to. Think about it. I'm the one being traced. I'm the problem. Therefore removing myself is the solution."

Sam sways his head side to side, a bit iffy. "No running. Trust me, your father and I will retaliate if something happens."

"Wait..." My eyes widen. "You dropped this last night...you even apologized."

"I know I did; but the apology wasn't a retreat, Chris." He shares a long, steady gaze. "You're still getting my gun, and the Rez will be useful to fight off any attacks."