The Lies We Tell

Chapter 2

Ryan Michael.

Honestly, I think I could spend all day talking about how beautiful I think he is. Well, if you can actually call a boy beautiful.

When he walks into a room, the first thing that hits you is his frame. He's tall and lanky, what some people would call goofy-looking. He looks like he's clumsy, but he's actually not.

The next thing is the way his tanned skin seems to glow and makes his eyes seem even brighter, like they have a perpetual smile to them. His hair even had highlights that complimented his skin. It was only that old, slightly tattered jean jacket that looked out of place on him. Some people said he didn't have the money to buy a new one, some said it had a lot of sentimental value. Whatever the case was, I liked it on him.

Don't get me wrong, though. I didn't like him like that. I didn't. He was just the guy I sat behind in English and had had lunch with everyday.

Okay, well, not with. He was technically at the next table, but still. Close enough. Five chairs away. I wished he would close the gap, though. Make it four chairs. Maybe three. I loved his cologne. He had good taste.

I quickly turned back to my friends in hopes no one noticed me staring just a little too long, but I was too late. Riley and Mary were both grinning at me. I felt a blush rise in my cheeks. "What?"

They exchanged a look before shaking their heads. I rolled my eyes and refocused on my lunch, telling myself that the weird feeling in my stomach was from the cafeteria food.

---

Unlike most seniors, I wasn't in any clubs or anything like that. I'd been there and done that. My freshman and sophomore years were so full of every activity I could squeeze in that I hardly had any time to even sleep. I barely remembered to eat. The first year I practically only ever ate lunch, which probably explained why I lost 20 pounds that year.

Though, the upside to all of that is that I only had to finish my classes. I didn't have to be in any clubs to make the top of my class.

My house was silent and still when I made it home. As usual. My parents wouldn't be home until six.

That was fine with me, though. I usually used the time I was home alone to film bits and pieces for my videos. Today, though, I had other stuff to do.

I went straight to my room and opened my laptop. It wasn't long before I was on YouTube and uploading my next video. Knowing this would take some time, I went to the kitchen to get the bag of marshmallows I'd hidden in the fridge.

I snacked while I waited for my video to finish. Once it was live, I posted to my socials and sat back for a long moment. I usually spent Monday working on my writing on Wattpad instead of my videos. I'd begin filming things on Tuesday, but only short bits where I'm a different character or acting out something. Saturday I'd film the main part and edit it Sunday. 

With a sigh, I opened Wattpad. A few comments awaited me that I replied to before getting into writing.

A full chapter and several handfuls of marshmallows later I heard the front door open. My gaze went to the half-full bag. My parents were home. I'd meant to put my snack up before they came back, but oh well. I didn't want to talk to them, so I just opened a drawer and dropped the bag in it.

The door closing meant it was time to switch to my homework, so I pulled it out and got to work. After an hour I realized something wasn't right. I sat my pen down and sniffed. No food smells. It was past the time Mom usually called me for dinner. Something had to be wrong.

I stood and silently slipped into the hallway, very worried about what might be waiting for me. As I made the final turn into the kitchen, I knew I had a right to be because something I had never seen before awaited me: Mom, sitting at the table, empty wine glass and a half bottle of wine I knew I hadn't seen in the fridge in hand.

I was almost too scared to ask what had happened, because I knew it couldn't be good.

"Mom?" I asked, voice soft. She froze. "Mom, what happened?"

She slowly turned to me. Her eyes were rimmed with red and puffy, and I felt even more scared. She never cried. For as jarring as the sight was, her words were even more jarring. "He's gone."

My heart dropped. "What?"

She sighed and sat up straight. "You've probably noticed your father and I have been having problems lately. He's taking a break." She practically spat out the word 'break'.

I was taken aback by the biting tone. "What do you mean? Where is he?" I glanced at the door. My father was out there somewhere.

"Hotel, maybe? I don't know." She waved her hand at me as she poured another glass of wine. Her words were beginning to be slurred, so I had a feeling she didn't need it. "He just said he wasn't coming home tonight. God knows where that man is." She slammed the bottle down and took a long sip.

I'm not sure what made me reach out to touch her hand. Maybe it was how distraught she looked. Maybe it was my guilt for feeling relieved. Or maybe because I was desperate to know the answer to my next words: "Do you wish he was here?"

She turned to me. The moment her eyes met mine I saw the tears well up. A sob sounded like it was ripped from her throat. "Yes!" she sobbed. "I love Martin!" She sounded like she was gasping for air that wasn't coming because of the tears. Or maybe because she really did love him. As she calmed down, she wiped her face. "I didn't really want him to go anywhere." She looked at me and her lips parted as she saw the tears running down my face. "Oh, honey." She held out her arms for me.

I didn't hesitate - I walked into them and wrapped her in a hug. It was a rare display of affection and I wasn't about to turn it down.

We probably sat that way for a few minutes, but it felt like it was right away that the doorbell rang. I sighed and pulled away, knowing she shouldn't answer the door in this state. "I got it," I told her, walking away.

Through the peephole I saw two uniformed officers. What was wrong? Something about this made my blood run cold. I reluctantly opened the door. "Hello. Is there something wrong?"

The male and female officers exchanged looks. "Is Mrs. Janice Till available?" the lady asked.

I had a feeling that something was wrong and it had to do with my father. "Come in and I'll go get her," I said, moving aside. This couldn't be good. I went into the kitchen and shook my mom's shoulder. "Mom, you have to come into the living room. The police are here."

Her eyes widened. "No," she said. That one word held so much emotion it almost broke my heart. She stood and stumbled into the living room.

The officers exchanged glances when they saw her. Once she was propped against a wall the lady stepped forward. "Are you Mrs. Janice Till?"

"Yes," my mother slurred.

"I'm sorry to inform you, but there's been an accident involving your husband, Martin Till. He died on the scene."

My mother crumpled to the ground with a long scream before fainting.