The Misunderstanding of Fate

Chapter 19 - New Friends

By the end of October, the snow is controllable which makes it easier to drive around and therefore continue life as normal. Now that we aren't locked away, I can appreciate the beautiful festive feeling the snow brings to this place. Plus, now that I've climatised a bit, I've returned to wearing my skirts with the addition of thicker tights.

Today, George and I sit on my bench while I read a book and he angrily stares at the snow. I'm unsure whether it's the weather or his thoughts that have caused the look on his face but I'm too enthralled in my book to ask. I make a mental note to ask later.

"As much as I enjoy the skirts," he begins, "aren't you cold?"

He honestly sounds concerned, confused, and cold which almost makes me laugh. The emotion in his voice when he's relaxed or comfortable is something I'm still getting used to.

"Used to it," I mumble, attempting to keep my focus on the pages, "thick tights."

While I think the conversation is finished and done, George has other ideas. It takes three seconds for the book to be removed from my hands and placed inside my bag as I watch silently. Now that I'm not staring at my book, I notice that the angry look on his face has slightly faded and has been replaced with a determined one.

"Okay," he settles against the bench again, "my turn for some attention now."

A shocked laugh escapes my lips as he watches with a smirk. I twist in my seat to face him properly and to satisfy his request. Without saying anything, George reaches forward to push a piece of hair out of my face and I offer him a thankful smile. As I feel my phone vibrating against my leg, I remember I have to ask him something.

"Can I please sleep in yours tonight?" George tilts his head at my question and, from my experience, I know that means he has something to say or ask. I wait a couple of seconds to see if he will go for it but nothing comes. When he bites his lip in contemplation, I roll my eyes, "Spit it out."

At my instruction, he puts a single finger in the air, "Firstly, you don't ever have to ask me for my permission to share a bed with you," second finger raises, "Secondly, I kind of assumed you were anyway," third, "and, finally, are you going to tell me why you've been sleeping in my house every night for the past week?"

Okay, I was being rather hypocritical by suggesting he was holding back when there was definitely something I was hiding. Although, now that I have no other option but to confess, a sinking feeling returns in my stomach. I was perfectly content with keeping what was going on to myself but I didn't want to lie to him. Not when I was hiding so many other things. Plus, George wasn't stupid. There were only so many reasons why I wouldn't want to go home right now and the main one would be my father. I briefly wonder if he thinks bad of me for avoiding my own father, my only parent, but push the thought aside. I didn't need to create more imaginary problems.

"If I said it was because I enjoy your company," I tease, "would you believe me?"

George's eyes hold a level of seriousness where as his lips turn up, "Me? Of course. I can hardly blame you. But..." he pauses before getting straight back to the point, "Your dad?"

Looking away from those intense eyes, ones that pierce through my own, I mutter, "Yeah."

Moving closer to my body, he nudges me, "Tell me, princess."

Pacing. That's all I've been doing for hours. Checking my phone, I realise that it's now three in the morning. I had school in four hours and he was no where to be seen. Where the hell is he?

Even though I know it's no use, I try his phone again. Minutes pass and nothing happens, no one answers, and I fight off the unrealistic visions I'm having of him laying in a ditch somewhere. What if he's dead? What if he got into an accident or a fight? What if he ran into my mother somehow? Gosh, if this is what it felt like to worry over your children, I definitely wasn't ready for any babies. After hours of fighting them off, I can no longer contain the tears in my eyes. Wiping a hand over my face, I pace back and forth in the kitchen waiting for something - anything - to happen. My eyes are full, my stomach is empty, and my heart feels heavy.