Bulletproof (#1) ✔

13: Franny

    I turn over in bed and stare at the little clock on my bedside table. It's ten in the morning on a weekend and for once I don't want to be anywhere near the house.

    Yesterday was tense and my dad spent the entire night upstairs and not eating a single thing. He was probably trying to sleep off his hangover. I had stayed downstairs and let the sound of the television lull me into a false sense of security that I latched onto tightly.

    I didn't clean up the glass but when I had my own dinner and went upstairs to bed, I heard my dad walk out of his room and go downstairs. I could hear the scrape of glass being swept up from the floor lazily.

    After that I feel asleep and tried to pretend that my dad wasn't even there. That he was out with the guys and would be back later. But now I can't pretend—he's here.

    I get out of my bed and change into a pair of thin leggings and a hoodie. I wrap my arms around my torso and open my door a crack. I am met by silence throughout the house. I can't even hear the usual faint snores coming from my dad's room.

    I head out into the hallway and the silence makes me think for a moment that maybe my dad isn't actually here. Maybe he walked off when I fell asleep and isn't back yet. But as I tiptoe past his bedroom door, I hear the rustle of sheets. I freeze, my foot inches from the floor, and wait for the door to open and for me to face him.

    But it doesn't come.

    I sigh in relief when I realize that he's just turned over in bed. I keep going, not letting go of the tension in my muscles until I reach the bottom step. I don't go to make breakfast like any normal day. Instead I stand in the middle of the foyer, looking in the mirror.

    I bite my lip. I can't stay here for the whole day. I can't bear to face him. I don't want to accept his apology. This time I don't want to forgive him. I just want to go.

    I look at my attire and decide it's enough to keep me warm outside seeing as the temperature is getting a little colder now.

    I grab my socks that are still sitting in my boots from the day before and slip them over my feet, then put on my boots. I'm about to head out the door when an idea slips into my mind. I turn and walk into the kitchen, my boots making a louder noise than I expected, and take a granola bar from the cupboard.

    I wait until I'm out of the house before I rip the wrapper off, making as much noise as I need without the worry of waking my dad. Biting into the food, I walk. And walk. And walk. The cool air is nice on my skin—calming, but also giving me the sharp bite that I need. I don't know really how long I've been walking but I guess around half an hour when I finally come up at my school.

    The entire place is deserted, the wide building looking like a dead place as I walk over to it. I stop in the little bit of grass in front of the parking lot that separates me from the school.

    There's a little wooden bench there and I sit down, leaning back and shoving my hands into the pocket of my hoodie, one hand fisting the granola bar wrapper. I let out a little laugh when I realize that out of everywhere to go on the weekend, I decide to go to school.

    There are a few cars in the parking lot and now and then I hear one passing  behind me, but otherwise the place is quiet, as if everyone is sleeping in. Apart from me. Here I am, trying to walk the day off and stay as far away from my own dad as possible. I wonder if maybe I should have left a note on the fridge, but then I ignore the thought. It will be fine.

    The crunch of shoes walking through fallen leaves makes me jump slightly and I look over to see someone heading my way. Tyler is wearing all black clothes with his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. His face is scrunched up from the cold as he reaches me and comes to a stop at the edge of the bench.