I stayed at Paul's Bakery for the rest of the day, occasionally chatting with the other customers and adding more things to my Like List (Owl City/Adam Young was added three more times). It was about eight o'clock when Paul said: "Shouldn't you be getting home for your birthday party or something?"
I cursed mentally. My dad was probably home! He was going to be so mad.
I stuck the to-go box in my backpack, thanked Paul and told him goodnight, and ran out the door. I was going faster than a race car down the road back to my house. The sun was just starting to set, and the sky was a beautiful symphony of red, orange, and purple. I would have stopped to watch it until dark, but I was in a rush.
I thought about what Paul had said. I wasn't going to get a birthday party or presents. I might not even get a 'hello' when I walk in the door. Maybe he won't even notice me, or remember that he told me to stay home.
No one knows that I practically live on my own. Once when I was in 6th grade, my science teacher yelled at me during class because I wasn't paying attention. For the second day in the row. I was really thinking about my dad, but he didn't know that. He had shouted at me the night earlier, for no reason. At the end of class, when all of the other kids were eagerly filing out of the room, he came up to me and apologized for yelling at me.
And because of my big mouth, I said, "It's alright. I'm used to it." The second the words came out of my mouth, I regreted them. He asked me if everything was alright at home. I nervously said everything was fine. I remember the look on his face, when I said goodbye and left his room. He looked...scared for me.
I skidded to a stop in our driveway, almost falling off my bike. My dad's old car was in the driveway, which made my heart thud fast. I never tried to disobey my father. I prayed that he would forget.
I hurried inside, and sighed in relief. My dad was passed out on the couch, beer cans littered on the coffee table. Jaws was playing on the tv. He was snoring softly. He still had his shoes on. I set my backpack on the chair next to the couch, and kneeled down by Dad. I unlaced his shoes gently, and set them on the ground next to me. Then, I draped the blanket that was hanging on the chair onto him. I grabbed my bag, and started to tiptoe across the floor. I stepped on the first stair when Dad groaned: "Where were you?"
Busted.
"I was out." I said, slowly stepping back down on the floor. "Just around the town. And I stopped at the lake."
He made his way into a sitting position, placing his hand on his head and wincing in pain. "I told you not to go out today." His words were slurred; he had definitely been drinking.
"I'm sorry, Dad," I said, starting to pick up the beer cans. "It's just that it was my birthday-"
"Oh," Dad interrupted. "It's your birthday. I forgot."
I started to say 'It's fine', but then Dad added: "But why would we need to celebrate the day you killed your mother?"
I was stunned. My backpack and the beer cans dropped to the floor. My father never said anything to me like that.
"Everything was fine and dandy, Hadley. But then everything went wrong. You were too hard on her. She couldn't handle you. You ended up living, and she ended up dying." He said. Could he possibly know what he was saying?
Then, his next words stopped my heart and it shattered inside me.
"You could have died and she could have lived. Everything would be fine."
Tears blurred my eyes and my throat burned. I wanted to be dead.
That could be arranged. Then, my dad would be happier. How could I do that? Could I do that?
I mustered up the courage to say: "It wasn't my fault! I hate you!" And I ran out the door, happy that it slammed shut.
My words must have snapped him out of his haze because he stumbled/ran out the door yelling, "Hadley, I'm sorry! I didn't mean it!" Too late. I was already on my bike, speeding down the road.
I could still hear him yelling from a mile away. But then he stopped. I didn't care. I just kept peddling.
I don't know how long I rode, or how far I went, but it was getting dark and cold out. Goosebumps formed on my arms; I was only wearing a tanktop and shorts. Tears obscured my vision, and I wished that they would leave.
Then, a figure appeared on road. I swerved to miss him, and it turned to face me. "Are you alright?" It called out.
That voice. I know it from somewhere.
I turned back to look at the figure, and accidentally hit the front brake. I flew over the handlebars and landed on my back. My bike skidded and fell to the ground, wheels spinning. I tried to sit up, and felt a shock of pain shoot through my back. Which made more tears fill my eyes.
I heard footsteps and a concerned, "Are you ok?" The figure kneeled down next to me.
"Are you ok?" It repeated. It was a man. Where had I heard his voice before?
Then, my eyes adjusted to the darkness since I wasn't moving on my bike. The man had very dark hair, and warm brown eyes.
My heart and mind screamed his name at the same time. No way.
Adam Young.
