How To Love A Dead Boy

Chapter 9 | The Window Seat

THE WINDOW SEAT

"Did you want to talk about it?"

I turn from the window to dad. He sits at the wheel and glances between me and the road. I quickly look down at my bandaged hand before we make eye contact.

"No," I reply. I shift my focus back to the fields of green flashing past the car.

"Are you sure? You just had to get seven stitches. Isn't there anything you want to talk about or say to me?" he persists. I sigh.

"I'm sorry you had to leave work early?" I reply.

"No- Not that. Maybe you want to explain how that piece of mirror ended up in the middle of your hand?" he pursues. I close my eyes and rub my temples in an attempt to ease my throbbing headache.

"Not necessarily," I mumble.

"Oh come on Lucy! Don't be like your mother!" he suddenly exclaims, annoyance obvious in his tone. I snap my head to him and glare.

Dad notices my death stare and exhales loudly.

"I didn't mean that," he starts and I look away, "But I will tell her about this if you don't answer my questions," he adds. I scowl.

"Are you blackmailing me?" I ask. He chuckles.

"Something like that."

"Fine! Ask away then," I exclaim, giving up and not having the energy to compete with him anymore.

He laughs to himself again, enjoying his little victory, until the chuckles disappear and I watch as his features change and contort to something more serious.

"What the hell were you doing in that restroom when all of this happened?" he asks straight off the bat.

While I think of a valid excuse, I trace the bandage around my hand with a finger and try not to think about the ugly scar I'll probably have in the middle of my palm for quite some time. After hoping that what I've come up with is substantial for him, I turn to dad.

"It was a dare."

"Oh really? And what was this dare exactly?"

"Uh- Well, I was dared to smash a public bathroom mirror, you know, for shits and giggles," I reply.

"Right. And who dared you? It wasn't that Cameron kid was it?"

"No. It was..." I search my brain for a name, any name and say the first one that comes to mind, "Melanie."

For a moment, I feel a little guilty for lying and bringing Melanie into the issue, but I'm quick to forget push those thoughts to the back of my mind when dad pulls into our driveway. There's silence between us as he crawls down the gravel driveway and follows it around the birch tree. He presses the button by the sun visors and the garage door opens.

He drives in, parks the car and the sensor lights comes on by the door.

The engine is killed and we both sit in the car for a moment.

"No more dares," dad says. I nod my head in response. He opens his door. "Also, you're grounded for the rest of the week," he adds sneakily before exiting the car.

I let out a frustrated sigh and lean back against the car seat, my hand resting on the door handle. I watch from inside the car as dad makes his way around to the garage door. Warm light floods in from the house and I watch it splash against strained concrete floor when he leaves it open for me.