Coffee With A Little Death

Chapter One: Naivety at it's best

Day 1; Part 1

'Don't you sit there, and lie to my face, young lady...' His voice trebled in authority. '...I'm your father, and you are going to respect me.'

'Dad, I love him, and he loves me...we want to be together.

'Stop. I know his kind... hell, I use to be his kind. Are you that naïve, you can't see he is only using you?'

'For what? How do you even know that? How do you know what he's thinking, or what he's feeling, for that matter? My bravery heightened. The sarcastic vein pumping promptly on cue. 'Unless you have some hidden mutation in your brain that gives special telepathic powers. Don't stand there, preaching at me that you're going to forbid me from seeing him.'

'Sadie, I'm trying to do my job, as a parent.' Steading said his breathing, and most-likely his blood pressure. 'I'm trying to protect you. Honey, he's no good.'

'Isn't your job to trust me, in my decisions; to trust that you have instilled in me some sort of moral code? Mom would've.'

His eyes caught red.

Sometimes having a big mouth doesn't always stitch the situation. Why was he getting this angry at me? I was the good daughter. Not the damn trouble-maker of the family. I never took a step over the 'let's-ditch-the-rules-line.'

Not that I was particularly afraid of my parents, but, of my own cautionary self. Would I be safe with these friends of mine? Is it worth the risk? I doubted every single moment; step; and decision I had ever contemplated my entire life.

Exhaustion was an under-statement of how tired I had brought on myself. And yet, no one knew, or could see that I was trapped in my own mind. Blinded by self-worth; wanting to belong to something, to somewhere, and the most important – to someone.

I couldn't take it anymore. I had no fight left in me for this battle that could easily have been called 'my freedom; my independence; my life; the rebellion of the billionth teenager this year.' I had no emotional strength retaining. Dad had a lifetime of wars, for which I'm sure he won every time, especially, those in particular with mom. Why she left me here with him, it... hurts more now that a river's waiting to implode from my eyes. I won't cry. I won't cry for that. And, I won't cry for him.

Collecting whatever dignity I had left of myself together, I finally stood, walking to the door, only to wheel around upon my heel, just as I was under the threshold. '...Dad, you can't protect me forever.'

'Sadie...' This wasn't a statement being voiced out, it held notes of a threat. '...you walk out that door, don't you think that you'll be welcomed back with any open arms.' It seemed the fight in him had subsided as well. The look in his eyes, were as if I had left years ago. And in some ways, I had.

A damn tear breaking the strong suite of my eye, looking at him one last time. "I wouldn't expect you to..." I choked as I shut the door behind me.

Walking to my car. The weight had never felt so heavy than after fighting with my dad for what could be the last time. Not to mention the flush of memories of the countless sore throats prior times to that following as my shadow across the uneven pavement.

The horrible realization spread like a virus through me: what if dad was right? Who better than to know a 'guy,' than a guy who use to be that said 'guy?' Did that sentence just make sense – who cares, I understood it, regardless, of its' actual correct structure. What if Brian is only using me? Like a trigger had been set off for the race of the year, I was screeching down the street within seconds, well, minutes – this is a 2001 Fiesta; at best, I corrected.

All I could think of was getting to him; to see his face; to tell him I had stood my ground, and to tell him that I just want to be with him. It was a strong enough emotion reciting in me that led to a smile at the possibilities. I couldn't wait to give myself something for a change. Whatever that change could be, at least I would face it with Chris.

A few miles of franticly driving, wondering, 'where the hell were all of the guys in blue at, if I could get away with this kind of reckless driving?' I arrived at Chris's house in a record time, there was an unfamiliar car sitting nicely in the driveway. One of his many buddies he usually has over for some type video game.

Hey, I enjoy games just as much as Miyamoto, but, there's a time and some more time for that.

'Who's that?' I murmured, walking hesitantly, I peeked within the driver's side window. From the indication of the Hawaiian flower garland hanging from the rea-view mirror it would appear to be a girl.

My heart sunk to the bottom of the Atlantic. Please don't let what my mind is already piecing together get to my heart; it may burst from the aching I started to feel. The best evidence that defended this 'girl' theory was the makeup bag hanging agape in the passenger's seat with a flashy pair of whorish panties. Nothing but classy. Unless a male friend of his was experimenting with cross-dressing (at which, I utterly doubt; they're all too cocky-minded-Neanderthals; then again, you just can never pin one label to anyone)

I looked towards the first floor apartment window. Curtains pulled. Closing to the hope that I'm dreaming – I'm dreaming, and this is a complete, and awful nightmare. I cracked an eye – nope. Still here, still a blazing summer. I pause momentarily from the adrenaline flopping bunny-like from head to toe.

Two quick breaths; I rang the door-bell. The faint sound of music playing blead from behind the door. I was getting heated, and rather impatient. I turned the knob, astonished that it wasn't locked. I clenched my teeth, walking in. The bad taste in music muffled any other sounds that my ears could possibly get any joy from. Bryan. I heavenly sang.

Hearing a plop, and a multiple thud, I could only assume I had intervened copious le pene. Forgive me for and of what I may do today...