SMELLING ROSES

Chapter Ten

Nora's Point of View

Wren drove with the top down. The night air whistled past our ears and revitalized my skin. I pressed my dolphin into my chest and sank into the seat. Now that our fun was over, my anger wrestled for dominance. I wanted to go home. My father made a lot of noise, but we both knew it meant nothing. He couldn't run his business without me, much less look after my siblings. I was the reason he had time to chase his dreams. If he wanted to keep doing it, he needed me.

Wren cleared his throat. "It's pretty late. I'm sure Mrs. Davidson's already asleep. You can stay at my place tonight if you want."

"You still trying to get me over," I joked as his cheeks tinted red. "I'm not going to Mrs. Davidson's. I should go home."

He hesitated but then nodded. He didn't understand the way my father operated. My father needed to feel in complete control. If it meant saying something he didn't want, just to prove a point, he'd do it. When I got home, he'd pretend like nothing happened. He wouldn't apologize or acknowledge a thing. And life would go on. I didn't like it, but it was how he operated.

When Wren pulled up to the alleyway, he draped his arm over my seat. "Want me to stay for a bit? You know, just in case?"

I shook my head. I'd kept him away long enough. It was late, we smelled like outside, and I wanted to sleep for a thousand years. I'd have to get up in a few hours to prep food. Our night was over.

"Thank you for today," I said. I wanted to kiss him again, but I wasn't sure how he'd feel about it. Two times was enough, right? He kissed me. I kissed him. But when I wanted to kiss him, should I ask every time?

"You're welcome, Songbird. Thank you for the flowers."

Being with him felt like being on vacation. Every time I left him, I dreaded going back to my normal life. Yes, I wanted a break, but the more time I spent with him, the more I wanted to keep breaking my promises. And that terrified me. Maybe that's why my father said all that stuff because he felt me pulling away. I wasn't supposed to. Staying was how I operated.

I threw myself out of the car. If I didn't leave now, I wasn't sure I ever would. Giving him a small wave, I ran up to the alley as his car engine roared. I neared the restaurant's front door and everything stopped.

My bags were packed and waited for me at the door. I laughed. My father was taking this too far. Sure, I said things I couldn't take back, but so had he. We could get past it. I wasn't leaving.

I pummeled through the doors like an escapee from hell. My raggedy suitcase rumbled at every step as I lugged my things up back to my room. I halted my crusade when I found my father standing guard at my bedroom door. He looked unchanged as if he'd never left the spot. Our argument rang in my ears like it was embedded in the walls.

He went rigid when I tried to get past him. "Who let you in?"

"I live here. I'm not allowed in my own house?" I forced him out of the way and tried the door. It wouldn't budge. "Why'd you lock my door?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you."

I rolled my eyes. Yeah, okay. People wondered why I was so mature. Because my father's a ten-year-old.

In the hallway was a painting of our mother. We kept our spare keys hidden behind it, but most days, I barely looked at it. It was too hard, but today I looked, hoping she'd give me strength. As I stared at her smiling face, only one thing crossed my mind: she'd be disappointed in us.

Jamming the key into the lock, I swung the door open and dropped my suitcases. My bright yellow walls were painted white. My board of inspiration was taken down and my books no longer had their place. He even took away my mattress. The only thing inside was my table, cluttered with packed boxes. Everything was gone. I was gone.