Chapter 3
Delaney
At school on Monday, I yawn through my classes and find myself nodding off during Advanced Civilizations to which my teacher gives me the stink eye.
Immune to anything but my fatigue, I sit up in the hopes of inspiring wakefulness and grab my bag when the bell rings.
Micah messaged me nonstop through Sunday and while I was tempted to end it right then and there, I knew it would be a shitty thing to do over text.
I’m halfway to the door and freedom, now that the day has ended when he calls behind me, “Delaney, hold up.”
I’m not in the mood to deal with his accusations but I pause by the door anyway because the longer I draw this out the more I’m subjecting myself to the torture.
All the while, I consider what my supposed friends said about me in that kitchen, immune to my circumstances and unwilling to just fucking ask.
Did Micah really tell them what happened that day? Is nothing sacred? How could he?
Micah skids to a stop beside me and his blue eyes flash as he says, “What’s going on? You skipped out the other night.”
I can already hear the insinuation and with a silent sigh, I say, “I didn’t feel like partying.”
He raises a thick blonde brow, and I flush. This is how it always starts.
He’ll question me until even, I don’t believe myself before launching into all the reasons why I can’t be trusted and can’t stay away from dick.
All this and then later when I’m pissed and hurt, he’ll come crawling back with excuses that sound suspiciously like deflections before the cycle begins again.
“You went home?” he asks.
“Yep,” I say and turn away before this can devolve into a full-on fight.
Of course, he grabs my arm, and I pause before the double doors that lead outside, gritting through my teeth, “Let me go, Micah.”
“I don’t think so. My girlfriend owes me an explanation,” he growls.
When I meet Draven’s stare across the lot, her lips pull into a smirk. Rolling my eyes, I wrench away from Micah and snarl, “I’m not your girlfriend.”
“What?” Micah says, stepping back. His eyes widen before they narrow. “What the fuck are you talking about, Delaney?”
Here it comes. I brace myself for the deluge when he opens his mouth, but I’m saved by Josh who approaches with a grin.
As soon as he taps Micah’s shoulder, I escape out the doors and push through the crowd.
I know he won’t be delayed for long though, which is why I step between two parked cars and crouch down, staring at the gravel poking my knees.
“Wow,” Draven drawls, stopping beside me.
Groaning, I rub my aching forehead and mutter, “Don’t say it.”
“What?”
“Whatever you’re thinking.”
“Fine,” she says, sighing dramatically. “What about Friday?”
“What about it?” I mumble, wincing when a rock digs into my calf. How the hell did I get here?
“My math,” she says, and I eye her sideways.
Is she serious? She blew me off the last time. Still, I need the money. Ugh.
“I have to work,” I finally say.
“Where?”
“Salty’s.”
“What time do you get off?”
The following few days are quiet beyond my shifts at the diner and avoiding Micah who seems to have an extra sensory ability to sniff me out wherever I go.
Tonight, I have the night off, thank god.
While I make myself scrambled eggs for dinner and Joey watches another fucking game on T.V., I eye him quietly.
My parents split up when I was five years old. I don’t remember much that far back. It’s mostly images that I can’t piece together, like a slideshow without sound.
Whenever I used to ask Mom, she would get this weird, pinched look on her face and I guess I stopped because I was afraid, I was hurting her feelings.
All these years later though, I can’t help but wonder who she was before us, before me.
Strangely, I never considered this until recently. I guess because in my mind, she didn’t have a life that didn’t include me.
These selfishly infantile thoughts popped like a balloon though and now I can’t see past the fact that not only is there a history she’s never shared but it includes secrets I suspect she also never intended to.
A plume of smoke shoves me from my thoughts and with a wince, I turn off the stove and move the pan to a different burner.
From the couch, Joey eyes me with a frown before turning back to the television.
Every time I’ve tried to ask Joey about Mom, he acts like he’s suddenly fucking deaf or something, but Joey could be the key to filling in those missing pieces.
This is why I finally clear my throat and say, “Joey?”
“Hm,” he grumbles, crumpling the empty can of beer between his hands before tossing it toward the trash bin by the wall.
Wrinkling my nose, I stare at the pathetic creature before me and wonder what he was like back then. I mean my mom must have found something redeeming about him but for the life of me, I don’t see it.
Of course, he misses, and it rebounds off the wall, spraying droplets of beer before bouncing along the floor and resting beside the trash can.
Immune to the mess he just made, he reaches into the cooler by the couch and grabs a new beer.
I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt, but he doesn’t seem all that interested in me or her. I hate that I even have to ask but if I want answers, this is my chance and silently groaning, I say, “Where did you meet Mom?”
When he eyes me sideways, I go back to my eggs, praying that for once he will answer my fucking questions.
“Out,” he grunts, and I roll my eyes. Dick.
Why can’t he just act like a normal human fucking being and tell me about them? It’s my history too.
Were they hopelessly in love? Or did they get stuck with each other when they realized they were going to be parents?
I’m assuming the latter but again, I didn’t know him back then.
Maybe he was a heartbreaker…? Or not, I think when he belches and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Where?” I ask.
“She was around.”
Dropping the spatula to the counter I spin around and say, “Around where?”
“Just around. Partying and shit.”
Partying…that sounds less than romantic, so I’m going with the mistake theory and assuming they were stuck with each other.
“Wild one,” he says with a chuckle, and I frown.
Wild—how? Like dancing around the house at three in the morning because it was the perfect time to have a pajama party?
Or…something else?
“Did you love her?” I know they never married but did they have feelings for each other?
His eyes narrow before he turns back to the T.V. and says, “Nope.”
Okay. He’s a dick but whatever. I can’t say that I’m surprised.
With a sigh, I dish up my eggs and go back to my room.
I have one picture of my mom from back then. She was beautiful, with long red hair and piercing blue eyes.
In the picture, her head is tipped back while she laughs and waves at the camera. Who is she waving at?
Where is she in the photo? All I can make out is the blurry fender of a vehicle and what I believe to be the shadow of a man to the right of her.
Tracing her features, I try to piece together the broken woman I left behind with the younger version in this picture.
What happened that led her to who she is now?
After finishing my eggs, I drop the plate in the sink before hiding once more in my room.
Lost to my thoughts, Mom’s shrill cries dance around in my brain until I can’t stand the sound.
With a groan, I grab my ear buds and turn on my music. Unfortunately, it doesn’t drown out the screams.
My boy. I’ll never see my boy again.