Fragile(NOT COMPLETED, UNDER REVISION, PLZ DONT READ RN)

Chapter 17

    A pair of rough hands grab me and pull me back. I hiss out in annoyance. My eyes drift upwards and meet a pair of ones that I hate. Ethan glares down at me and I freeze. It's clear he's refraining from lashing out at me in front of everyone else. Suddenly his eyes narrow and his face turns into a look of disgust. His blonde mass of hair flops downward as he leans towards me. 

"What is that?" He fumes.

    I snatch my hand out of his grip and make a move to leave again but he side steps into my way. 

"Answer me." Ethan demands. I roll my eyes at his snappy attitude, but at the same time I cant help but feel self conscious of what he's talking about. 

"I d-don't know what you're t-talking about." I stutter. He was like a ticking time bomb, seconds away from blowing up right in front of me. The late bell rings and he shoots me another dirty look before shoving past me. I turn around, watching as he stalks down the hall. 

    Curiosity ran through my body as I wondered about what he was speaking about. My eyes looked over my body. My jeans looked fine, my sweater looked- oh. My sweater had completely dipped forward. The hood was pressed completely up against the back of my neck and my collarbone was exposed.  I quickly fixed it before rushing to my next class. 

    Why would it even matter to Ethan? Besides, I was already a slut in his eyes. I knew I wasn't. Until yesterday, the only type of physical interaction that I've ever received from a male was abuse. What would it matter to him if he saw one hickey on me? That's all he's ever expected from me anyways. 

    I wasn't trying to prove anything to him, but if its what he expects why is he angry about it? 

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    The leaves around my feet blew around on the ground as I trudged up the block. I didn't plan to walk home today. When I got out of the building after the day was over I looked over at the bus stop. The line was far too long and another bus would take too long to come. Besides it was freezing. At least walking would build up some body heat. 

    I turned on the familiar block and looking up ahead I stopped dead in my tracks. The sight of my dad's car parked in the driveway made unsettling grow in my stomach. Why was he home so early? 

    My legs felt heavy as I dragged myself up the porch. I was slow to pick my keys out of my bag, dreading to moment I'd have to step foot in the house. When I finally opened the door I stepped into the house walking through the hallway and into the kitchen. He wasn't here. I looked sideways into the living room. He wasn't there either.

    I walked up to my room quietly, passing his room when I heard his voice angrily whispering. I peeped through the  tiny space of the doorway. He was standing there in the middle of the room dressed in pajamas with his phone pressed up against his ear. 

    He looked stressed out. The person on the other end of the line must have been speaking because he stood there silently with his eyes closed. Suddenly his voice became mumbled. My dad didn't sound anything like how he sounded when he spoke to me. Nothing like how he sounded when he was shouting at me. 

    His voice was tired, almost like he was worn out. I leaned my body against the side of the wall, no longer watching him but just listening to him speak.  I stood there for a while, and for a while he didn't talk. The conversation was most likely over now so I stood upright and began to walk to my room. Before I could reach my door I heard his voice again.

"Don't call here again." He chokes out. 

    I proceeded with walking into my room and placing my bag on the ground and then kicking off my shoes. Who could he have been talking to? Why was he home and not at work? He wasn't here when I left this morning. I pulled my drawer and took out a pair of black leggings in exchange for taking of my jeans. I examined my legs before tugging on the leggings. One of the bruises at the side of my thigh was beginning to fade, and another was almost completely gone.