Little Sweet Dreamer

Chapter 6

"Let go of her," Andy said as Sasha began reading my poem. It was the one about my father. I closed my eyes, my body starting to shake.

"Stand back before I beat the hell out of you," Grey warned. I opened my eyes and shook my head. Andy backed off.

"Daddy, I miss your voice," Sasha said dramatically. "You gave me life/ brought me up from my worst moments/ and now you're gone, and we're alone/ it's no longer the same without you at home." Then, she began laughing, stabbing me right in my chest. "Somebody's really kinky, isn't she?"

Anger flashed through me, and I tried to dash towards her right then and break her stupid straight little teeth. But, Grey's grip was relentless and unmovable.

"Daddy, I'm all grown up now./ You missed me blossom into a young woman/ My mind-expanding alongside my body/ writing, like you/ which is now my favorite hobby." Laughter erupted around the room. Tears of shame washed over my face and down my cheeks. I wiped them away quickly, even though they kept flowing out. "Was this poem written by a five-year-old? It's honestly trash, guys. Guess she needs a better hobby—"

"You think this is okay?!" Blake shouted, causing everybody to turn around and look at him. "Her father was murdered right in front of her. So you think it's 'cool' to make fun of her poem coping with her grief?!"

The room went quiet until Sasha said, "Hah! Well, maybe next time she shouldn't mess with us. She deserves it." She shrugged with an ugly smile on her face. "But since people are so sensitive, I think I proved my point. The party can resume. Remember to check my Instagram page later today, loves!" Then, she turned the music back on, and everybody slowly started dancing again.

Grey sighed as he let me go, and I shoved past him, running through his house until I got lost in one of his various rooms. 

I collapsed onto the floor, my sobs shaking me and my chest aching. I was completely and utterly humiliated.

My phone began blowing up in my back pocket, but I ignored everything sent to me. These emotions cluttered my mind and body, and I just wanted to cry it all out. Then, theoretically, I'd be able to act rationally. Right? I didn't know. I was so fed up.

I missed my dad more than ever. I felt like he'd have something encouraging to say, more than the bland things I offered myself in my mind. But he was dead, and nearly a thousand students from two grades combined knew my poem and believed that I was bullying Sasha and Grey.

A knock on the door startled me, and I silenced my sobs, listening. Nobody on the other side of the door made a sound. Then, when I thought the coast was clear, I silently started crying again, burying my face in my arms.

The door twisted open slightly until Grey's face peeked in from behind it. My eyes hardened as I looked up at him, hatred—an unnatural emotion for me to harbor—building up in my chest. I stood to leave, but he blocked the doorway and closed it behind him.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. I narrowed my eyes at him. The audacity! He was sorry? After this, that's all he could say? Sorry?!

I stood there, unmoving. Grey looked like he expected me to say something, but I refused to move my hands from their fists at my sides. More tears dripped down my face, only making me angrier. I didn't want to cry in front of him.

He continued, "I... I didn't know. I didn't know she'd read that. But you messed with us. I warned you you'd regret it." His eyes held guilt, but that wasn't enough to cool me off. The hate I had built up for him boiled into a rage.