Fragile(NOT COMPLETED, UNDER REVISION, PLZ DONT READ RN)

Chapter 27

    A few hours later I laid flat against my bed. I was forcing myself to take a nap. Today was overwhelming and I have no energy left in my body. It's barely even six in the evening for crying out loud. 

    Logan tried to persuade me to have him drive me home but I declined repeatedly. No way was I going to walk into that parking lot if Ethan was there. Just thinking about it makes my pulse accelerate. 

    I hastily shove the thoughts out of my mind and try to start thinking about other things. More relaxing things. Slowly but surely my eyelids begin to droop. I move my arm under my neck and rest my head on it while I snuggle into the blanket on my bed. 

    I'm a minute away from falling completely asleep when the loud slamming of a door makes my eyes shoot wide open. I scramble off of my bed, running my hands over my clothes to smooth out the wrinkles.      

    What was he doing home so early? This was the earliest he's been home in weeks. 

    Is it worth it to go and check on what he's doing downstairs? Would he even acknowledge me?

    My curiosity gets the best of me and I slip out of my room quietly. I walk down the stairs but stop at the last step to peer over the rail. Through the hallway I could see his shadow in the kitchen, and I could hear him rummaging around in the cabinets. 

    I walk silently through the hall and stop before the wall that divides the hallway and the kitchen. Leaning over a bit I steady myself by putting my hand onto the side of the wall. Looking into the kitchen I could see his blazer strewn across one of the dining chairs and his briefcase laying face down on the floor. 

   His back was facing me as he scoured the cabinet for a glass. A large bottle of scotch was sitting on the island with the ice tray accompanying it. I lean back behind the wall, closing my eyes and breathing in softly.

    Of course he was getting a drink. My chest pained thinking about what would be the outcome of this. I feel a bit let down, I don't know why I expected something else to happen. This was my dad. This is who he was. 

    A whimper ached to escape my mouth. Why was he like this? Because of my mother? Why would he rather spend time drinking alcohol than spend time with his daughter and at least be glad he has me left? 

    Tears prick my eyes but I quickly remind myself to think about other things. 

    I hear a glass set down on the counter and soon the sound of liquor pouring follows. I stand there, my back against the wall and my arms folded against my chest. I could easily just walk back up to my room and he would never notice but my feet drag me out of my spot. 

    I stand in the entrance to the kitchen, my arms now hanging down at my sides. My dad was leaning over the counter, his head was down and he was clutching the cup of alcohol up to his forehead. Suddenly he slams the cup down and swiftly lifts his head up. 

    His grey eyes instantly find me and I feel pressured to move or just do something. He doesn't utter a word or move a muscle. I saunter towards the fridge in attempt to look as if I came downstairs for something. I grab a cold bottle of water despite not even being thirsty. 

    Deciding it's not a good idea to stay in the kitchen I hastened my trip back to my room. Im halfway down the hall when I hear my dad call my name. I paused, not one hundred percent sure if he was actually calling me or if I was just imagining things. 

"Grace, come here." He calls out hoarsely. 

    I turn back on the heels of my feet and slowly drag myself  back into the kitchen. My grip on the water bottle tightens when I see the expression on his face.