sixty

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The walk home, although flat and relatively quick, is miserable. Not because of the scorching sun overhead and not because of the lingering soreness between my legs.

Not even because I know Mom will be waiting for me once I get to Grams.

No. It's because I'm alone, only my thoughts to keep me company. And what bad company they are.

If I'm not daydreaming about Luke and his body and the things he did to mine, I'm nearly making myself sick with guilt.

What would Casey think, if he were here?

And then the inevitable conclusion, the only one I can ever think of: Casey can't think anything, because he's not here. Because Luke took him away.

And the cycle continues, the disgust I feel with myself eating me away.

Grams cottage comes into view and my stomach twists in knots. Exhaustion falls over me like a heavy blanket and my steps become slower until I'm timidly turning the knob, as if my parents aren't on the opposite side, waiting for this exact second.

It'll be a fight, no matter what I say, and God, I'm just so tired of fighting.

Mom's voice assaults me before I'm even through the door.

"Where have you been?"

"Hello to you, too." I sigh, slipping my flip-flops off and closing the door behind me.

Mom is standing, probably pacing before I entered, and Dad is beside Grams on the sofa. As usual, Grams looks concerned and Dad looks lost. My fists clench by my thighs and I grit my teeth.

"Don't give me that." Moms arms are crossed over her chest, her face pinched. "You better have a good reason for keeping us this late."

"I told you, I didn't need you to say goodbye." I try to shrug, making my way into the kitchen, "Stuff with Brynn went long-"

"Dylan Grace, don't you dare lie to me." Her tone shifts and stops me in my tracks, somehow knowing the worst is yet to come. "I called Brynn's parents and they said you left hours ago."

My mouth falls open as I turn the corner to face her again. "You what? You called her parents?" Red hot humiliation runs through me, bringing heat to my face as my voice hitches up. "What am I, fifteen? Christ."

"No, don't turn this around on us. We were worried about-" Mom's sentence is abruptly cut off, like she's being choked. "What are you wearing?"

I follow her eyes to my chest. To the t-shirt I borrowed from Luke. To the fucking Henson's General Store logo over the breast.

Fuck.

"It's nothing-"

"Were you with Luke?" Mom steps forward, expression bewildered. I shake my head but before I can speak she's shouting so loudly that Dad jumps in his seat. "Stop lying! What were you doing with Luke Henson?"

A lie is my only self preservation.

"Mom, relax. It's just an old t-shirt from the back of my dresser, I -"

"Are you seeing him again?" Mom is nearly screaming. "Is that why you're wearing his clothes?"

The words sting, the implication loud and clear. It's like I'm dirty, a traitor.

Fury explodes out of me. "So fucking what if I am? Am I not an adult, capable of making my own decisions?"

If I thought I didn't care what she thought of me, the look on my mother's face proves that I was wrong. What's left of my heart shatters as her face contorts into one of disgust, shame, resentment.

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