Arabelle Lock (GirlxGirl)

Chapter 7

Arabelle's POV

"I swear Arabelle, if I could literally live in a pizza house, I fucking would," Lily moans happily, patting her stomach, which somehow remains flat despite the entire pizza that was stuffed inside. I roll my eyes with a chuckle as I pull up in front of her house.

"See you tomorrow?" I ask, moving past her pizza house chatter. Lily nods with a wide grin.

"Definitely. I can't wait to check out that new club, it's gonna be awesome. Plus I'm so psyched that you're letting your giiiirlfriend come with us," she teases with a grin. I smile back tentatively.

"Yeah... it'll be great."

Sensing my unease, Lily glares at me. "You need to stop worrying. She'll be fine at the club, she can't be that innocent."

I fidget uncertainly. "I know, but still... I'm not sure if she knows what she's getting into."

Lily sighs, rolling her eyes at me. "You worry too much, Bell. Everything is going to be fine. See you later, okay?"

"Alright, alright. See you later," I sigh. Leaning over, she plants a peck on my cheek before jumping out of the car. I don't flinch when her lips touch my skin, having adjusted long ago to affection from specifically her.

Lily is right, I really shouldn't worry so much. Marissa isn't some defenseless toddler, she's just as old as I am. I'm sure that she'll handle herself fine. 

Of course, maybe that's not the only reason I'm nervous. Maybe I'm nervous that she'll see me in a different light at the club.

I drive the four blocks it takes to go from Lily's house to mine, and park my car. Entering the front door, I immediately head upstairs to my room.

"Arabelle? Is that you?" I hear my dad call from the living room. I roll my eyes, pausing on the stairs.

"Nah, it's a blood thirsty serial killer searching for a place to store my dead body collection. Wanna help me look?" I call back sarcastically. I hear footsteps approaching me before my dad appears before me, a frown set on his face. He leans against the wall next to the base of the staircase, crossing his arms over his chest. Uh oh.

"We need to talk, Arabelle."

"Oh come on, you used to love sarcasm. What happened to the dad that could take a joke?" His jaw tenses at my words.

"I guess he left the same day the daughter who didn't hide alcohol in her room did," he says tightly. My eyes widen briefly in surprise before narrowing in anger.

"You were looking through my stuff?" I demand.

"Yes, I was, obviously with good reason." The disappointment in his eyes makes my stomach churn, filling me with a familiar sense of emptiness. "Explain yourself, Arabelle," he demands. I look down, knowing that I can't give him a proper answer without pouring my heart out to him. And I can't do that with breaking his heart on a whole different level. Is my shitty past going to hurt my relationships with people throughout my whole life? Is it always going to drag me down, ruin me? Why do I give it this power over me?

I suddenly feel exhausted, and all I want to do is go upstairs and sleep.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" I reply quietly. Seeing the change in me, my dad's expression softens slightly.

"Arabelle, you can't just say 'I'm sorry' to something like this. Your behavior is worrying us honey... we're scared. Whatever you're going through, you can't cope with it by holing yourself up in your room and drinking away your problems," he says emotionally. "You know that you can tell us anything, right?" I fall silent at his words, staring blankly at the wall behind him. The emptiness was spreading through me, and I couldn't find the energy to reply. Everything fades away and I become a spectator in my own body, detached from my emotions; a fairly common automatic response that happens in my head when I'm in an emotionally difficult situation. He sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. "I think we need to have a talk, Arabelle. The three of us. Can you promise me that we'll sit down and have a talk as a family on Sunday?" he pleads.