After 3

Chapter 263.

Songs for this chapter are:

 Explosions- Ellie Goulding

 Down- Jason Walker

Hardin's POV.

"Where are you?" His angry voice booms down the hall, creeping into the kitchen. The front door slams and I jump down from the kitchen chair, grabbing my book in my hands. My shoulder knocks into the bottle on the table, bringing it crashing to the ground into too many pieces. The brown liquid covers the floor and I hurry to hide it before he finds me and sees what I did.

"Anne! I know you're here!" He yells again. His voice is closer now. My small hands pull the towel from the stove and throw it onto the floor to cover the mess I made.

"Where's your mum?" I jerk back at the sound of his voice.

"She's..she's not here." I tell him, standing to my feet.

"What the fuck did you do?" He shouts, pushing past me to the big mess I made. I didn't mean to make the mess. I knew he would be angry.

"That bottle of scotch was older than you," he says. I look up to his red face and he stumbles. "You broke my fucking bottle," My dad's voice is slow. It always sounds like this when he comes home lately.

I back away, taking small steps. If I can just get to the stairs, I will get away. He's too drunk to follow me up them. He fell down them last time.

"What's that?" His angry eyes focus on my book. I hug it tighter to my chest. No. Not this one too.

"Come here, boy." He circles around me.

"Please don't," I beg the man as he rips my favorite book from my hands. Miss Johnson says that I'm a good reader, better than anyone else in fifth year.

"You broke my bottle so I get to break something of yours," he smiles. I back away as he tears the book in two. I cover my ears and watch as Gatsby and Daisy float around the room in a white mess. He grabs onto some of the pages in the air and rips them into small pieces.

I can't be a baby, I can't cry. It's just a book. It's just a book.

My eyes are burning but I'm not a baby so I can't cry.

"You're just like him, you know? With your stupid fucking books," he slurs.

Just like who? Jay Gatsby? He doesn't read as much as me.

"She thinks I'm stupid but I'm not," his hands grab onto the back of the chair to keep from falling. "I know what she did," his voice goes quiet and I think my dad is going to cry.

"Clean this shit up," he groans and leaves me alone in the kitchen, kicking the binding of my book as he leaves.

..

"Hardin! Hardin, wake up!" A voice calls me from my mum's kitchen. "Hardin, it's only a dream, please wake up," my eyes fly open. I'm met with worried gray eyes and an unfamiliar ceiling above my head. It takes me a moment to realize that I'm not in my mum's kitchen, there is no spilled scotch or torn novel.

"I'm so sorry for leaving you in here alone. I just went to get some breakfast, I didn't think-" her voice breaks off into a sob and she wraps her arms around my sweat covered back.

"Shh," I smooth her hair, "I'm fine," I blink a few times.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She quietly asks.