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He'd never met someone with such a bubbly personality. Not to mention the wildness and odd phrases she'd say every five minutes...
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❀Azalea❀
"Do you think I'll ever see him again, Mr. Terrip?" I question which honestly makes me want to throw myself off a bridge.
It's been a week and a half. A week and a half of me wondering about him. A week and a half of me trying to tell me to stop thinking about him and to forget about his terrible manners and rude attitude.
"Who?" Mr. Terrip asks and I feel like throwing a book at his head.
"Albuquerque the turkey, " I deadpan and he laughs.
"Forget I said anything, I think I'm going crazy," I shake my head.
"I think you've been crazy for a while," Mr. Terrip teases and I point a threatening finger at his face.
"On that note, I'm leaving," I pick up my book for the night.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Azalea," he tells me goodbye as we walk out. I stay beside him as he locks up and once he's done, we go our separate ways.
"Where's your car?" he calls out and I wince.
"I walked," I smile.
"I told you not to do that," he scolds and I sigh.
"Goodbye!" I call over my shoulder and I can just see him shaking his head in disappointment.
I swear, he acts like I live an hour away or something.
This morning I just woke up with a little extra energy so I walked. I've grown to like walking better than driving anyway.
Although, I haven't walked to the bookstore since before the accident.
Maybe that's why my knee is slightly pounding.
I make it home and take notice that both parents are home.
God, please give me a good day here.
I open the front door and keep my head down as I walk through the living room. I catch sight of a couple of Jack Daniels bottles on the coffee table and I close my eyes in an attempt to picture the table the way it used to be before the wreck.
Fresh flowers in a clear vase. Maybe even a couple of 'Good Living' magazines.
I should've stopped walking when I closed my eyes. But I didn't.
For a kid, a father's arms should feel like the safest place in the world. Not the scariest.
The smell of alcohol on him was what hit my senses first, then I felt the tight grip of his hand on the back of my shirt.
