Selling My Soul for His Aston Martin.

Selling My Soul for His Aston Martin. (3) *Edited*

"Wait! I have to tell my dad before he goes to work." I said, pausing in my packing. Will looked at me. "Then go tell him."

"But I have to pack, I can't do both at the same time."

"I can't tell him." He said. I looked at him. "Obviously. You're insensitive as far as I can tell, and he'll have a fit because you're a guy. So you can pack for me and I'll tell him while you're doing it. Don't be pervy." I headed out the door before I could see his smirk. I quietly went downstairs to the kitchen. 

Okay. This had to be handled delicately. As delicately as something this could go, anyways. My dad had the habit of turning something small into a huge argument fest. For example:

Me (Age 12 in the nicest voice that I can muster): Daddy, can I go to the movies with Lindsay and some of my friends?
Dad (looking up from game): Who's driving you?
Me (trying not to cringe): My friend Val's older brother.
Dad: Is he licensed?
Me: Yes.
Dad: Does he drink?
Me: I don't know. We don't hang out much.
Dad: Let me tell you a story, sugar plum.
(Dad proceeds to tell me a horrific story about girls who are kidnapped and sold and stuff. By the end I'm ready to scream.)
Dad: Do you want that to happen to you, sugar plum?
Me: No daddy.
Dad (sickeningly sweet tone): Then you know what the answer is, don't you?

See what I mean? I had nightmares for weeks after that and Val broke off our friendship because I kept on avoiding her.

My dad was sitting at the table, sipping his coffee and reading a newspaper. I was still in my pajamas. What? They were comfortable.  

"Morning dad," I said, pecking him on the cheek. He smiled. "Morning."

I sat down at the table and folded my hands, looking at him from under my eyelashes. "Daddy?"

"Yes?" He said, not looking away from the newspaper. 

"I want to go away for a while." He froze, then got this look on his face, putting down the newspaper. "Why?" He asked, his voice heavy. Why? For an awesome car that a dying singer is willing to give me. But I couldn't tell him that. He wouldn't let me leave the house. 

"Because. Well, I just want to take a break before I jump right back into studies."

"Who's going with you?" He looked suspicious. I gulped and faltered a little. 

"Uh, um, Lindsay."

"You're sure about that?"

"Positive," I said, nodding and praying that he didn't check in with her. He looked down, sipping his coffee and unconsciously making me feel more and more guilty. 

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" He asked, looking at me.  

"I'm sure."

He sighed. "When are you leaving?"

There was the sound of a car horn honking outside and I cringed. Talk about timing. My father looked three seconds away from a hernia. "Now? You're leaving now?"

"Yes, bye daddy love you!" I pecked him on the cheek and bolted up the stairs, hearing him run after me much more slowly. Thank God for aging. I threw my doors open to see Will holding a bra, wincing and then throwing it into the suitcase. I slammed my door and looked at him.

"Will!" I snapped. He looked at me and put two and two together, snapping the suitcase shut and headed toward the door. I barred his way. "What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving."

"Not out the door you aren't. I don't want my dad's last image to be your dumb ass running down the stairs dragging a suitcase behind you. Now climb out the window."