A Thousand Ways To Run

W a r r e n

Both of them were shocked when the agents began to shake their heads, signalling to follow them into the next room. My parents’ gazes turned back to me, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing me pretend like nothing was wrong. I continued to scowl at the wall, my knuckles growing white from the pressure of keeping them clenched. My arms stayed crossed over my chest.

They stalled, asking questions and demanding to know why I was staying outside with the staff.

After my parents were convinced to leave me, I tried to block out the noise around me.The room got really quiet when my dad yelled the first time. The staff were like a crowd full of teenagers, all eager to hear the same story. They waited to hear the argument. A few realized that I was sitting right there, and nervous chatter started up again. I caught a few people staring at me, and I shot them a death glare.

‘Yes!’ I wanted to turn and scream at them, ‘The prodigal son has screwed up again! Congrats on being able to put two and two together.’

Some time later, more people came down and explained it was all a false alarm. They hurriedly tried to explain that the system was faulty and needed repairing. All of it was lies. No one questioned it, though, all shuffling back to bed or wherever it was they came from. I stayed put. I think I knew that I wouldn’t be going anywhere for a little while.

“Warren.” I turned, saw both Mom and Dad looking angrily at me, their arms crossed. My mom looked at me like I’d fallen below her standards. “We would like to talk to you,” Dad said, his voice alarmingly calm. He waited until I was in their separate room before he shut the door loudly behind me.

I should have known this room was meant for us—it was annoyingly more luxurious. The floor was carpeted, the lingering cold cement still under my feet, and a couch was pushed against a wall to my right. I bypassed the little island kitchen and plopped onto it, settling into the cushions and readying myself for the storm. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

Mom took the armchair across from me, folding her legs under herself carefully. Always the professional.

Dad was glowering over me, his booming voice making me flinch. “What have you been up to?”

I smirked, my eyes meeting his. “Depends. What do you know about?”

“Don't be a smart alec!” Mom screeched at me. God, she was such a prude sometimes.

“I'm not being a smart ass,” I muttered under my breath. She didn't catch the words, but Dad did.

“Don't backchat your mother like that! You are our son. You are not an adult yet, Warren. Whether you like it or not, you answer to us.”

Whatever I was going to say before died in my mouth.

“It's one thing to find out you've been sneaking around. But with a young lady? I mean, she must be respectable enough. But Warren, the girl isn't...well, she just isn't like us,” my mother continued, beating around the bush.

Thank God she isn't.

“What do you mean?” I asked, wondering who exactly they thought Charlie was.

“Surely, she has told you,” she stalled hastily.

“Told me what?”

Mom sighed, eyes darting around the room. She was trying to not sound judgemental. “Ms. Morgan  just explained to us about her mother's... history. She's had a hard life, as I understand it, and she assured me that her niece is a lovely girl, but... I just don't think it would be a good idea to engage in friendship with her.”