Unexpected

2

I slept fitfully the night before, prior to last night I'd had no use for the word I'd learnt on my eighth-grade vocabulary test. Fitfully, meaning not regularly or continuously, was the perfect descriptor for the couple hours I'd managed to sleep.

Every time I'd finally manage to drift off to sleep, I'd wake up in a cold sweat mere minutes later, dreaming of phantom hands and the crazed look in the man's eye. In the worst of my nightmares my mind played out what might've happened had I not been quick enough in running away.

            By six a.m. I'd had enough and I gave up trying to sleep, instead I crept downstairs to our silent kitchen and made myself a cup of coffee. Knowing I'd actually have to face school today I needed all the caffeine I could get.

Yesterday after 'AAA' had arrived and towed my car away, my dad had elected to give me the day off. He justified it by saying I needed to go to the doctor to get my ankle checked out, and I'd have to be around to help pick up my Jeep once the front tire and windshield were replaced.

I knew my dad though, and we had such a close bond that I knew he could sense there was something wrong beyond my ankle and car. I knew I should've just fessed up and told him, but the longer I avoided the topic the harder and harder it seemed to bring it back up again.

            By my second cup of coffee my mom and dad had joined me in the kitchen, puttering around wordlessly until their caffeine had kicked in. I was grateful for the silence as it gave me time to think about the world wind twenty-four hours I'd just had.

The doctor had been confident it was just a bad sprain, so I was benched from volleyball and all other extracurriculars for at least a week, maybe even two and I was benching myself from runs in the wood indefinitely.

"You alright kiddo?" My dad asked, after he too was on his second cup of coffee.

            "Yeah dad," I murmured, contemplating a third cup.

            "How's the foot?" He asked, glancing down at the swollen bump. I hated sleeping with a tensor bandage and in my fatigue addled mind I'd forgotten to put it back on before heading downstairs this morning.

            "It hurts, but I'll live," I went for a light humorous tone, but it fell flat in the early morning silence.

            "That's good sweetheart," My mom murmured, dropping a light kiss on my head as she deposited a bowl of fruit salad in front of me. I smiled my thanks, and began to poke at the meal, my stomach revolting with every sweet, fruity bite. I guess that was another side effect from yesterday, a severe lack of appetite and general nausea, although that could be from the two cups of black coffee I'd consumed on an empty stomach.

            "You gonna' head in early to talk to Coach?" My dad asked, getting up from the island to pop a piece of bread into the toaster.

            "No, I thought I'd talk to her after class." I knew I was being a coward, but my Coach was an intimidating woman. While most sports were coached by men exclusively, my Coach didn't let that bother her. She yelled louder, worked us harder, and had coached teams to more championships than any other coach in Romeo and a bunch of the surrounding suburbs bordering Detroit.

            "Don't be a coward Katherine, we didn't raise you to be." My dad said sternly.

            "Doug, don't be so hard on her." My mom scolded, frowning at him from behind her newspaper. "She's had a rough go of it," My mom growled, going into overprotective mama bear mode.

            That was one thing I admired about my parent's relationship, my dad might've seemed tough on the outside, but towards my mom he was uber sweet. Anything she wanted he gave her, and then some, and it was what I wanted in a relationship. Seeing the way, he worshipped the very ground she walked on and respected her, made me want to settle for nothing less.