Helpless (Book 1)

Chapter Two

"GOOD MORNING, SON," says a man who's roughly in his mid-forties with red-orange hair, almost the same colored hair as Lafayette's but more brownish though and pale, smooth skin with rich gray-blue eyes. He sits at the end of the dining room table with his laptop flipped open and a couple of newspapers sprawled out around him. He picks up the white mug on the right side of his laptop (which reads World's #1 Dad) and takes a long, slow sip out of it. His rectangular glasses perched on the tip of his nose. He sniffs and pushes them back up the bridge of his nose before continuing typing onto his keyboard with his left hand while holding his coffee mug with his right. I try not to wince when I hear the word "son" come out of his mouth. 

 "Morning, Dad," I say as I swing off the bottom step, gripping onto the stairwell's post and swing my body around it. I jog towards the living room couch and slide the shoulder strap to my bookbag off of my shoulder and let it flop down on the couch with a thump, crashing into the throw-on pillows. I sling my arm around George's neck and press a kiss to his cheek. He pats my forearm and hums as he takes a sip of his coffee again. George raises an eyebrow at me.

 "How'd you sleep, Alexander?" George wonders. 

 "Slept fine, Dad," I say. I'm not allowed to call him "George" straight in his face. 

 "Are you sure, Alexander?" he says. "Your eyes are red...and there are dark circles underneath them. Did you stay up past midnight again working on that novel of yours?"

 I shoot George a hard glare over my shoulder as I reach for a random coffee mug from the cabinet next to the stove. I narrow my eyes at him and scowl, my nose twisting up with disgust. 

 "So, what if I did?" I say, a little too defensively. He'll know I'm lying. Or perhaps he's gotten used to the deceit in my voice that he might actually believe my lies. I mean, I lie to him all the time now. George sighs defeatedly, rubbing the spot with his forefinger and middle finger between the brows in a small circular motion. 

 "Alexander..." he says warningly. 

 "What?" I say, setting the mug underneath the Keurig machine before lifting the lid and popping the k-cup in the little hole and closing the lid. I press the button with the large pitcher symbol. I turn to face George, folding my arms over my chest as I lean back against the marble counter. I cross my ankles over each other. "So, what, Dad? What are you going to do about it? Ground me? Put me in time-out?" 

 "Son, don't start this right now!" George whines, lifting his head up to meet my eyes. "On a Monday too. At seven o'clock in the morning..." 

 I shrug blamelessly. "Well, it's not my fault. You were the one who brought it up!" 

 George narrows his eyes at me and I feel my cheeks warm with triumph, feeling the corners of my lip turn upwards slightly as I watch George sink his teeth into his bottom lip, trying not to bark back an argument. I humph as I turn back around to watch the coffee brew. I lean against the counter, my chin resting in my palm and my other arm draped over the counter. 

 "Well, good morning to you too, honey," says a soft, feminine voice coming from beside me with a soft chuckle. 

 It's then that I hear the bacon crackle in the pan and the scrape of the spatula from the pan as a young woman perhaps in her mid to late thirties stands next to me scrambling up scrambled eggs with melted American cheese on top. She has dark, chocolate brown hair pulled back into a low bun, letting a few curly bangs dangle in front of her emerald green eyes which sparkle against the sunlight shining through the window. She has smooth, flawless skin. She wears little makeup such as foundation covering her acne and light pink eyeshadow with eyeliner and mascara and cherry red lipstick coating her small, thin lips. She has on silver hoops and she wears a light pink blazer with a white shirt underneath and a pink skirt to match her blazer. She wears black high heels and a bracelet dangles from her left wrist, a watch on her right and a silver, diamond ring on her ring finger. I feel a small smile tugging on my lips.