Loving You Differently

Sixteen

"I know that, Aria," he says slowly, defensively. "That goes for the both of us. Anything I tell you, is what I want to tell you, alright?"

I relax a little. "Alright," I agree.

"It's just not a happy subject. You're not the only one with baggage. I don't want to run you off either," he says firmly.

"You won't."

He relaxes too. Reaching for the cabinet beside him, I grab two paper plates and hold one out to him. He exhales, and a look of relief crosses his features. Save for the rock music from the radio, a comfortable silence passes between us as we make our sandwiches.

Instead of taking a seat at the dining table, I grab two sodas and guide us back to my room. Not even caring about getting crumbs in my bed, we both lean our backs against my headboard and get comfortable.

I spend so much time in my room when I'm home, and it only feels right to have a conversation that Austin deems difficult, here. I don't want to share our secrets in a space that my mother occupies far too often, even if she isn't even home right now.

A beat passes, and then Austin speaks up. I'm taken aback when the first words out of his mouth are, "My father is in prison."

Woah.

Unsure of what to say, I just nod, encouraging him to continue. He sighs.

"He's in prison for murder."

My eyes widen. Holy shit. I was definitely not expecting that.

He sees my expression and rushes to explain. "He wasn't in my life very long when it happened. I was three, and my brother Reed was barely one. I was told he was meeting up with some guy who was selling an old car. My dad was interested. Had the cash in hand and everything. When he got to the meet-up spot, two guys came out of nowhere and pinned him down, took the money, and ran. A week later, my dad tracked down the guy who was supposed to be selling the car and shot him."

A look of anger crosses Austin's features when he finishes. I push my plate aside and turn my body towards him, facing him head on.

"You said... 'what you were told'. What does that mean?" I ask apprehensively.

"My mom took off after it happened. She tried to keep it from us, didn't want us to know. She let us think he ran off on her and left her with two kids. Obviously the truth came out years later when I found old newspapers in our attic," he says roughly.

"I can't believe she tried to keep that from you. I'm so sorry," I say to him.

"I was so mad at her," he confesses. "I hated feeling oblivious. But I'm more angry at him."

I reach out and squeeze his hand. "You have the right to be angry."

"He's reached out to me and Reed, but I ignore the letters. I hate that I'm related to someone so angry and violent. Hate that I have his blood running through my veins. I don't want to get to know him," he admits.

That statement almost knocks the breath out of me. I completely understand where he's coming from.

"I know what you mean," I say. "My parents weren't the most affectionate people in the world. I don't want to end up like them, but I'm scared I already am."