Nor (Wattpad Featured Story, WriteAffair finalist)

Chapter 6: Incriminating Images

" ... were gunned down today at about four p.m in what appeared to be a crossfire between rival gangs. Witnesses had little to say, but the police are investigating .... "

"What are you watching?" My father. He's standing over me in the living room, and it looks like he's going out tonight. His hair's wet, he's in a new shirt, and he's working on a tie. I stare at his hands fussing for a minute, then shrug.

"News," I answer from my spot on the floor. We have three perfectly good couches out here, but I like where I am.

"You don't watch the news."

"I do now."

"OK," he goes, in kind of a draggy, mocking way. He sniffs as he walks away from me. "Make sure you do your homework."

"Done." It's only a thirty-percent lie, because I'm seventy-percent done. "Where are you going?"

"Out."

I don't care what my father does. I don't care where he goes. I ignore. Should I? "Where?"

"What do you mean, 'where'?"

"I mean, where are you going to?"

He turns to me then, a little sharply like he's surprised. I've never asked about what he does or where he goes, after all. He studies me for a second, trying to dig into me. "Just out."

I don't respond. Well, is it any wonder I ignore so much when people aren't willing to let me in? He looks at the time, curses, then hurries out. Two minutes later, I hear ringing, but it's not the house phone. It's coming from my father's bedroom. He forgot his cell.

Normally, I'd leave it alone, but this time, I get up to go and look at it. At first, I hesitate outside his door. I don't think I've been in here for months. Suddenly, it feels like I'm about to enter new territory, a stranger's territory.

But that's ridiculous. This used to be my mother's room. I've been in here millions of times before. I turn the knob, going in. Everything is just as I remembered it, except for the lack of her dresser-junk, the lack of her Anna Sui scent, the lack of whatever storybook she'd be reading resting on the bedside table. My eyes reach the cell phone singing on the dresser.

Maggie.

Who's Maggie? I don't know any Maggie. Friend? Employee? Tenant? Just as I touch the phone, Maggie hangs up. That wasn't the only missed call, there's, like, twenty. Curious, I look through his messages and his phonebook. It's actually mostly pretty boring – a lot of work stuff, even though quite a few of the messages are from Wes. I play around the menu for a while, then peek into the photo gallery. I don't expect him to have any pictures, but I'm surprised.

Women. Parties. Shit. Shit!

I get out of there quick, suddenly feeling dizzy. I had no idea my dad ... was into all that. I had no idea he knew all those people. Is that where he went today, to go have fun with some drunk old men and a bunch of tramps probably half his age? Pervert. Pervert. How dare he? How dare he do that, after Mom ....

I slam the phone back down. I get a really tempting image in my head of destroying it – a hammer over the face, soaking it in water, putting it in a pot over the stove. Fun. The penalty would not be, though. Daddy dearest doesn't really do much, truth be told – for instance, after the Contavalli incident, he didn't ground me or cut my allowance or anything. He merely did what he always does – yell at me for a very long time before telling me to 'get out of his sight'. It's supposedly tame, from what Brian tells me, but it's still no picnic. Besides, I hated that violin. It was supposed to be mine, and therefore should have been mine to destroy. But I've got nothing against this Samsung, not really. It's just ... him.

I pause, wondering if any of the women in the photos were Maggie. Despite myself, I take a second look. I don't find any clue to tell me who Maggie is, but I do find out something else. Something a million times worse. Someone I know is in quite a few of these party photos. And his name is Wes Rivers.

God, I hate him.

I wish I had a picture of him. I always wished I had a picture of him, but whereas before, it would be to kiss and stare at until I fell asleep, this time I want to throw darts at it. Just like in the movies.

Except I don't have darts.

But I could probably buy some. Where do you go to buy darts?

Maybe online.

Why can't I frigging GO TO SLEEP?

Curse you, Wesley Rivers.