Kelsey’s Point of View:
“Kelsey!” I heard my mom call out my name from the bottom of the staircase.
Furrowing my eyebrows, I dropped the book I had been reading onto the comforter of my bed before rolling off and onto my feet. “Yeah?” I held onto the side of my door, my head poked outside of it.
“Come down here, your father would like to have a word with you.” I could sense the strain in her voice knowing how I felt about my father at this moment but for the sake of her, I pushed my hatred aside.
“Okay, I’ll be right down.” Closing my door, I threw a sweater on over my tank top before re-opening it, walking out and jogging down the stairs. Stepping off the last step, I turned to my left to see my dad standing near the coffee table, both him and my mother engrossed in a hushed whispers conversation.
“Hi dad.” I mumbled awkwardly, not knowing whether or not he was still pissed at me or not. I shuffled on my feet, avoiding any type of eye contact.
“Kelsey,” He breathed out, shocked to say the least that I had agreed to come down. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” I replied, monotone. If he thinks I forgave him for what he did, he’s got another thing coming.
“Look, I know you’re angry with me but I would like to have a word with you.”
“Okay,” I shrugged, gesturing with my hands towards him. “Talk.”
“Kelsey…” My mother murmured softly, shaking her head softly but my dad cut her off short before she had a chance to say anything else.
“It’s alright Melissa,” My dad turned his gaze from my mom to me, staring sadly into my chocolate eyes. “She has every right to be upset with me.”
I pressed my lips together in a firm line, not sure how to react to his calmness. I expected yelling or at least the shadow of a scowl on his lips but all I saw was the faint whisper of an understanding smile.
I looked away, not being able to hold his scrutiny.
“Can we sit and talk?” Sitting down, he signaled with his left hand towards the space next to him, wanting me to assemble next to him. I hesitated before nodding and walking over to him. Sitting a few feet away from him, I laced my fingers together on my lap.
My mom watched us from where she stood, hope twinkling in her eyes and I knew that she wanted us to make up.
A part of me did too.
“What do you want to talk about?” I mumbled, slicing through the silence, wanting us to get this over with already. I hated sitting and cumbersomely looking around, waiting for the other to say something.
It was a complete waste of time.
My dad shifted in his seat, keeping his posture precise, his tongue coating a layer of saliva across his lips as he gulped. “I would like to talk about last night.”