Shoot and Score My Ass

My dad's inevitable moving on

Hope you guys enjoy :)

_______________________________

"Where are you taking me?"

"Home."

I slump back in my seat in frustration, Dylan's acting like a big protective brother and I hate that. I was fine, truly, before he came along and put snakes in my paranoid mind.

"You know, what you were doing was stupid," Dylan says, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles are white. "You could've gotten hurt."

"And what do you want me to do now, bow down at your feet and thank you for being my hero? I think not," I grumble and fold my arms across my chest.

Dylan sighs. "Seriously, Jackie?"

"You seem to be calling me Jackie a lot lately."

"Yeah? Well, deal with it."

"Fine, I will," I snap even though that wasn't necessary. I'm pissed at him for being so caring and he's pissed at me for being stubborn.

"I do care about you, you know," he says quietly.

I roll my eyes. "Well, obviously. I'm like another person you've decided it's upon you to take care of."

"Dammit!" He hits the steering wheel. "Why can't you get it through you're fucking thick head that I-" He stops and takes a deep breath. Then he clears his throat and says, "That I just want to help you, alright?"

Okay. Kinda weird, but I'm gonna choose to pretend that never happened.

Dylan seems to be angry, though, and he takes a sharp turn, making the truck screech.

"Jesus," I breathe, gripping my seat.

"Sorry," he mumbles, slowly taking breaths in.

"It's fine."

"Okay, don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Say, 'it's fine' and then just not talk anymore. I hate it when you do that."

"Oh."

"There you go again."

I stay silent, playing with the hem of my shirt. He's right, I don't feel like talking. But not talking can get you lost in your own thoughts and I find myself thinking back to yesterday when we made out.

Okay, we didn't exactly make out considering there wasn't tongue or anything, but still. For me, it counts.

But it was great while it lasted. It really was and what Dylan said in the voicemail about it being so bad that I freaked was completely wrong. I freaked because it was so good. Because it was too good to be true.

I didn't go very far when I was running so we get to my house in record time. Dylan parks in front and taps the steering wheel, waiting for me to get out.

I open the door to his car (he didn't take them off this time) and jump out, closing it behind me. Then I wave at him, but he's too busy staring ahead to notice, so I just keep on walking to the house.

Which is when I remember I don't have my keys. Gosh, I'm such an idiot. I frantically feel my short's pockets but there's nothing. Nada.

I remember my mom telling my dad before she died to not keep a key underneath the doormat because someone could break in 'cause everyone keeps a key there. So there's definitely nothing there. I don't know where Brianna is, maybe she's still asleep or maybe she won't hear me. But I still press the doorbell anyway, over and over again.