Straight To You

thirty-three

By the time I reach home, all I want to do is climb into bed and never get out again. Seriously. I'm exhausted, physically and emotionally. Today was a complete and utter nightmare, and the only way to erase the damage done is sleep it off.

After Jack's mother requested Jack go inside the house and explain his actions to her, I decided to take my cue and leave. Jack had tried to convince me to stay and try to bond with his mother, though—after everything else that had conspired—I just wasn't feeling it. I'd entered the house just long enough to say my goodbyes and promise Jack I'd talk to him soon. Thankfully, I hadn't run into Mrs. Crawford on my way out. Jack had assured me that he'd try and talk to his mom and sort things with her out, swearing up and down that he would make it up to me. The promise had been sweet, though we both know it isn't his fault how his mother chooses to behave.

Now I'm ready to call it a day, grateful that the weekend has finally rolled around. As I hassle to unlock the front door, I find myself recalling the moments I'd gotten to spend with Jack this afternoon. I can still feel his lips against mine, the breeze rippling through my hair during the ride in the Ford, the cool water enveloping me in a hug after being pushed into the river. Maybe today hadn't been a complete nightmare; there are parts that I'll always look back on with a smile.

I'm so lost in thought that I don't notice my father's presence until I enter the kitchen. I'm startled to find my dad's back to me as he leans against the counter, oblivious to my sudden entrance. Looking at him, all I can think about is the moment he shared with Elena that I accidentally witnessed. Instantly, my mood darkens and my hands begin to tremble, anger consuming me all over again.

When Dad turns to face me after my presence has been made known by the sound of me setting my keys on the table, expression haggard. Studying him, I notice that his hair is sticking up in odd places as if he's had his hands in it recently. His dark blue eyes are blazing as they meet mine, lips drawn into a thin line as he gives me his best you-are-in-so-much-trouble glare. I can't remember the last time my father was mad at me, though after what I did today I suppose I can't blame him for feeling that way. Which is fair, considering I'm just as furious with him.

What's more surprising than seeing my dad visibly angry is that I don't care how upset with me he is. In fact, I welcome his displeasure. Oddly enough, I almost want to fight with my dad, which is just as crazy as it sounds. Though as the image of Dad's hand brushing hair behind Elena's ear and lingering on her skin flashes in my memory for the millionth time today, the need to scream until my voice is lost rises.

"Morgan." Dad's voice is steely and cold as he addresses me, crossing his arms over his chest with a steady glare fixated on me. "Where the hell have you been?"

For just an instant I can feel my anger fade, fear replacing my annoyance and spreading through my veins like a wildfire. He knows, I realize with a start. He knows I skipped school. Although I assumed my father would find out about my ditching sooner rather than later, the realization that he would obviously confront me about my actions had completely slipped my mind.