*UNEDITED*
•Riv's POV•
I look over the bed at Grayson, who was still on his phone. I huff but he doesn't seem to notice.
"I'm umm, gonna go ugh, get ready." I say, reaching under the bed to grab Ethan's journal slightly and sitting up.
"But are we even going anywhere today?" he says, poking his head over the bed.
I immediately take my arm out from under the bed and sit up completely.
"Umm well, I want to, go see my dad. Alone..." I say. I don't think Grayson will let me go alone. He still doesn't trust my dad.
"No. I'm not going to let you." Just what I thought.
"Grayson, He's going to jail soon. This is the last time I'm going to be able to see my dad for 4 years. He's the last piece of family I have." I say, standing up and walking over to my bag of clothes.
"Why don't I, wait out in the car while you talk to him?" he asks.
Why does he want to be there for me? I'm not a fucking baby.
"No Grayson. This is my life ok, I'm not letting you control it. We're not married." I snort.
"Yea, not yet." he says with a smirk.
I roll my eyes and grab some new clothes out of the bag.
"Can you leave? Please." I ask Grayson.
"No. I cant trust you on your own yet." he says.
"Then where am I supposed to change huh?" I say with a snotty tone.
He turns around and waves his hand as a signal for me to change. I groan and strip off my clothes and put the new ones on.
I don't even tell Grayson I'm done and walk out of the room, running down the stairs.
I open the door and continue to run, down the sidewalk the entire time. I didn't even look back for Grayson. I didn't want to.
I run up to the door of my house, with my lungs burning and my legs numb. I laugh at how stupid I was to run here.
I knock on the door before entering.
"Dad?" My voice echoes through the house.
I see the spit where I had bled out a couple days ago. It was all cleaned.
The house seemed to be, cleared out.
The couch was gone, most of the chairs and table too. I grew up in this house, I'm gonna miss this shit hole.
I see my dads head spear from the kitchen.
"Hey babydoll." he says, smiling.
He hasn't called me that in 10 years. Since I was 6.
I smiled back at him and walked into the kitchen, joining him.
"Do want something to eat?" he asked me.
He still doesn't know about my anorexia. He never seemed to notice when he was drunk. Should I tell him?
I shake my head no.
"Well ok." he says, nudging me a bit.
He leans over the counter and looks at me, with a smile.
"So, tell me about this boy."
