Leather Kisses

Leather Kisses. 17

"Dad?" I knocked on the locked door of my father's study.

It was Wednesday morning, the first official day of my suspension.

I had a sleepless night full of tossing and turning. Of course, I was embracing this new attitude of mine but a dreadful feeling rested in my core. While I couldn't identify the source of it, it filled me up with unbearable, emotional misery.

I heard a click through the door knob, followed by the appearance of my weary father.

"Riley," he muttered with a husky voice. "Come in."

My father stalked around his large, oak desk, and plopped down into his leather chair. He rolled up the sleeves of his cotton shirt, crossed his arms, and leaned back. My father pointed for me to take the seat facing his desk, but I was too nervous to sit. So I hovered over him, shifting my weight from one leg to another.

Dad looked up at me, waiting expectantly for me to speak. But I couldn't get the words out, because I didn't know where to begin. Anytime I came close to explaining myself, I would look into his tired, crestfallen eyes, and choke up.

He wasn't angry, nor bitter. But knowing he was disappointed and hurt was more painful than words can describe. The success of the video take gave me glory, but the sorrow of my father filled me with guilt.

Although I was disgusted with myself, I still didn't regret what I did . . . I just hated the fact that I hurt a person I loved.

With a shaky hand, I pulled the video tape out of my sweatshirt pocket and placed it on his desk.

"I'm really sorry, Dad, for everything," I whispered. "I hope you understand."

My father's eyes widened with shock and relief that my suspension hadn't entirely gone to waste, but I escaped to my room before he could respond.

The hours drifted by, but my father never came to talk to me. At this point, I had no idea what his reaction was to the footage captured on tape. So as I waited, I hoped and prayed for the best.

It was mid-afternoon when somebody knocked on my door. Initially, I thought it was my father coming back to discuss the matter at hand. To my surprise, it was Dean.

"Hey Riley," he leaned against the doorway, "your dad let me in so I could drop off your chemistry homework for the week." Dean handed me a green folder full of various pages and assignments.

"Thanks," I meekly replied. There was a brief, awkward pause of silence, so I finally said, "Would you like to come in?"

"Sure," he mumbled, taking a step forward. "I've never seen your room before."

The only boy who had ever been in my room before was Blake. For some reason, I always felt vulnerable when a guy was in the room where I slept and dressed. It was almost as if all my hidden secrets were being revealed in one square space. By natural instinct, I kept the door open just a crack, as my mother used to make me do whenever Blake came in.

"So you're a neat freak," Dean concluded, running his hand over my spotless vanity table.

"Yeah, I guess so," I shrugged.

Dean wandered over to my bed, and tugged on my indigo blanket. "I swear I could bounce a quarter off of this."

I crawled onto my bed, wrinkling the perfect bedding Dean had just commented on. I crossed my legs, and hugged my pillow tightly.

"I gave my dad the tape," I informed.

"Really?" Dean raised his dark eyebrows as he sat down on the edge of my bed. "What did he say?"