The Loner and the Prep (bxb)

Chapter Eighteen

Should I?

Chapter Eighteen

Watson P.O.V

Once my father slammed the door as loudly as he could, I was finally able to release the breath I had been holding as a few tears that I had been holding the entire time he yelled at me finally managed to escape. I shouldn't be crying over this. I should be used to this. Why am I not used to this?

Sometimes I can't help but think that what my father yells at me is nothing short of the truth. I couldn't help but feel that way. Other times I knew that his words were just drunken thoughts and that I shouldn't listen to a damn thing he says. I can't help it though. It was just me, silly old me, letting his words get to me. One of these days I won't care what he says.

With a heavy sigh, I get to doing everything my father previously demanded of me. I head quickly into the kitchen, hoping that I have something that would make for a decent meal. I was lucky enough to find some chicken that wasn't expired and decided to go with that. Baked chicken tenders with honey barbeque sauce with a side of mashed potatoes and corn. The single thought of the foods I was laying out made my stomach grumble and my mouth drool. The idea of all this food made me hungry. Too bad I would never get to eat it myself. More then likely my father would decide to throw the leftovers away. He would probably demand that I remain locked in my bedroom all night, to avoid me being seen.

I was used to this in a way. As much as my father missed my mother and had originally promised to never move on, I had a feeling that one day, the very precious promise would be broken. I knew my father well enough to know that he'd fall to the temptation in the form of another woman. I was used to looking after his meals as he couldn't cook to save his life. This time was only slightly different. I had to make an actual meal with my very little cooking skills for two people. I wasn't a chef. As I stuck the chicken into the oven, I prayed that this would cook correctly and without error. I set a timer on the microwave and rushed into the living room, tidying every little thing that I could. The smallest missed thing could end with me getting punished by my father, and I don't think I have the will to deal with another bruise. Bruises are ugly, I get so tired of bruises. I would have to go out and get some more concealer soon. I only use that stuff rarely as it makes my skin itch. Only when the bruises can't be hidden or brushed off as accidentally falling or a 'gym' injury.

Is it bad that I have every excuse in the book prepared?

After tidying the living room and making the bathroom look okay, there isn't a lot of stuff in there, I head back into the kitchen, check on the chicken. I get the corn out, open the can with an almost completely busted old can opener, and pour the content from the can into the small pot, placing the pot gently on the stove and turn the stove burners to less than the middle and wait for that to heat up. I grab the instant potatoes and work magic to make it taste actually good since by itself it tastes awful.

Deciding that I have nothing better to do while the food is cooking and since I'm not a daring enough cook to leave the kitchen for long periods of time, I decided that now was the perfect time to work on homework. If I didn't do it now, I'd probably forget to do it later.

Leaning against the counter I began to do the work assigned to me, watching the food and checking on it while I do so. At one point, I got so focused on the homework that the alarm on the microwave made me jump.

I check the chicken, pulling the rack out slight after I put an oven mitt on my hand. With a fork, I flip the chickens over and gently move the rack back into the oven deciding it needed a few more minutes. After finishing my homework, I shove the paperback in my pocket, as it would be safer there than on the counter. If I left it on the counter my father would probably throw it away or burn it. Both of those ways sounded like him.

I didn't exactly know when dad's lady friend was going to be here but I knew the moment my father rushed down the stairs in a panic looking around the living room seeming generally content with how it looked before he rushed into the kitchen, his face contorting into a scowl again.

"Well, what are you doing, get the nice plates and set two plates up for dinner, and quickly," He demanded, removing himself from the kitchen. Sometimes he makes me feel like a slave or servant that he just uses. I wouldn't be surprised if that's how he thought of me in his head. It probably falls somewhere under those lines though.

I do as he says, preparing two plates worth of the food I just cooked, generally pleased with the results but my stomach would be more pleased if I actually could eat some of it. I would be lucky if my dad and this woman banged because then I could come down and eat some of the food. Once I had the food laid nicely on the plates, the silverware out, and the glasses next to the plates, I turned the oven burners off and retreated to my room without my father noticing me leaving. I subconsciously knew that was what he wanted me to do though. I didn't need to be told otherwise.

Once I was safely in my room, I shut the door and rushed over to my bed, collapsing on it. I stayed that way until I heard the doorbell ring downstairs and the sound of the door almost instantly being opened.

'He's trying too hard' I thought as I rolled over on my bed and made eye contact with my book, and the note that was just barely peeking out of it, the note I have yet to even remotely think about. Should I text this person? I mean, I'm almost completely sure it's Elijah and I just saw him today. Why would he want to text me anyway? I'm . . . nothing.

I get out of my bed, walking over to it and taking the note gently in my hands.

Should I?