Roadtrip

Prologue

Cameron pushed the white fence open and made his way to the garden. Samantha hadn't shown up the last three days and he was worried to the point of thinking that she was dead. He found her lying next to the big tree in the middle of the small rose-packed garden Samantha's mother had spent months to create.

He lay down next to her and nudged her arm, not being sure if she wanted to talk. 

She was his best friend but she was not the kind of person who opened up. 

"My mom's ill," she whispered.

"So?" he asked. 

Well, Cameron was only twelve; who could blame him for not knowing that there were lethal diseases too?

"You don't understand, Cam, she's dying. She only has some months left," she explained holding back her tears. 

"Don't be scared, Sam. No matter what happens, you still have me," he said maturely.

She gave him a half-hearted, unsure smile.

I took a deep breath preparing myself for the screams that were going to bombard me.

What can I say, my father never understood that yelling at me before eight am was the most terrible thing he could do.

I unlocked our mahogany door and got in. The sickly sweet smell of newly baked, crisp chocolate chip cookies hit my nostrils making my stomach flip in annoyance. If it hadn't been for the last strawberry tequila shots, I would have probably downed a few along with some milk. 

Pushing every food-related thought out of my head, I slipped out of my sandals and tried to tiptoe upstairs. Sometimes I had managed to reach my bedroom without getting noticed but this day serendipity was not on my side.

"Samantha!" I heard my father's eardrum breaking yell.

I let out a loud sigh and through my hands in the air in desperation. 

"What?!" I growled.

"First of all, watch your tone and secondly, are you kidding me?! It's seven in the morning, you have to go to school and you just came back!"

"Calm down, it's like, the third day of school," I said, giggling softly

Well, to be honest, I was trying my best to hold in any trace of laughter that threatened to escape my lips but he was being ridiculous there. Like he didn't know me!

But then again, he did not know me. He only knew the daughter he had before my mother's death. Now, the way he looked at me was yelling stranger. Or worse, alcoholic stranger. Okay, I was not alcoholic but you most of the times I sneaked in my house on Monday mornings I was either semi-drunk or wasted out of my mind.

"You're drunk, again," he muttered almost inaudibly using his disappointed tone.

"I'm perfectly fine," I retorted, not laughing anymore.

"You shouldn't have stopped hanging out with Cameron. You would still be who you used to be."

"Cameron and I were friends seven years ago, Marcus," I hissed emphasizing 'Marcus'.

I knew he hated it when I used his name but hell, why couldn't he give me a break? I mean, yes, Cameron and I were not friends anymore- even worse, we hated each other's guts now- but it didn't mean that I was not missing him.

"You don't miss him, Samantha. You miss who you were with him."

"No, I don't. But if that helps you sleep at night, go ahead and believe it, I don't give a shit!" I yelled.