A Season of Firsts

Chapter 25 - Someone To Talk To

Before December 31st

DANIEL

The clock on the wall reads eleven pm.

Cleo and I sit handcuffed in Chief Donald Hull's office. There's dried blood on the side of Cleo's face and a nasty bruise surrounding it, but it doesn't look so bad compared to her swollen, blue wrist. We sit in silence, me fuming over the fact that no one has bothered to send a medic for Cleo's injuries, even if they aren't major, and Cleo looking a little dazed.
Loud voices outside the door alert me to the probability that her parents have arrived. I know that my mom won't be here, since she's most likely only going to be done working at twelve or one in the morning.
I glance at Cleo again. I know her being here is my fault, even if she did go and lie to a police officer, earning herself a ride to the police station with me. That surprised me, I have to admit. But it isn't as surprising as the feeling that is settling in now.
Gratitude. Something I haven't felt in a long time.
She did something she didn't have to do for me, to try and help me.

I swallow, tapping my right foot against the floor and allowing my eyes to wander back to Cleo every few seconds.

Just say it. Get it over and done with.

I sigh. Here goes. "Cleo."

Her head turns to me and she waits for me to carry on. She looks like a bit like sleepy kitten, her hair all rumpled and her eyes droopy.

Stop stalling and stop thinking about how cute she is.

Wait. Cute? Shut up, I order myself, wishing I could slap my forehead with my palm to knock those stupid thoughts out of my head. But obviously, the cuffs are preventing that.

"Thank you," I finally say.

I had thought Cleo was in a dreamy mood, but her eyes clear a little and a smile graces her face. Oh, no. I recognize that smile. It's her smug smile. So much for grace. "Did Daniel Hayden Farley just thank me for something?" she grins teasingly at me.

"Whatever," I mumble.

She laughs before composing herself seriously again. "Anytime, Niel."

I don't reply. Instead I look away, rolling my shoulders forward and then back in an attempt to get rid of some of the stiffness in them, as well as trying to ignore that I'm uncomfortable knowing how she made me feel warmer inside with the words she just spoke.

"Daniel?"

I shift my gaze to her once more. "Yeah?"

"I kept my end of the bargain. Now it's your turn to tell me what's going on." Cleo's expression is one of forbearance and calmness. Something tells me she won't let this get away easily.

Why does she have to be so darn persistent? Well, if she really has to know, I'll let her know. I'll give it to her straight and then watch how she takes it. "Okay, fine. The other day I almost ran over and killed a five-year-old girl. My grades are bad. My mom barely eats, she just drinks, and she's working so many late nights that it's wearing her out. And, to top it off, my dad has cancer and the last words he said to me before I left Boston were to tell me that he can't stand being near me anymore. He wants to spend the last year of his life in peace. Without me." I don't expect my voice to break, but with the last two words of my explanation, it does.

I wait for her eyes to fill with pity, or a kind of disregard, or a reflection of what she must really be thinking: that I'm a loser of a son and that I deserve being sent away.

But that doesn't happen. All I see in them is compassion.

"Daniel, I had no idea," she whispers, sparkly tears threatening to spill from her enchanting green orbs. Her lip quivers a little. "I'm so sorry."