LOCKDOWN

Chapter 14

I had never said those words out loud before. Hearing them fall from my lips shocked me just as much as it shocked Peyton, if not more, and I quickly slapped my hand across my mouth in horror. I wouldn't say I'd been living in a state of denial - I knew my father had been murdered, but I just refused to say those words out loud. Saying them out loud meant that I'd have to face the reality, and that was something I didn't want to do.

I'd never had a problem, per say, with my friends knowing that my father was murdered...I just didn't want to be the one who told them — and luckily for me, they never asked, and so I never told. This was the very first time I had divulged any sort of information on what had happened. I expected my first time talking about this subject to be with my best friends, or a therapist...I never expected it to be with Peyton Mitchell.

Peyton's eyes were wide with shock and her lips were parted, as if she were at a complete loss for words.

"I — I'm sorry. I didn't know," she stammered.

"No one does," I whispered.

"Your friends...?" she questioned.

"No one. Except you."

I didn't know what possessed me to keep talking, but I did. Everything that I had been bottling in for the last four years came tumbling out, falling into the hands of the one person I never thought I'd be telling.

"It happened in Greenhills five years ago, just before we moved to Braidwood," I began. "That's why we moved here...for a fresh start. The trial ended and two weeks later we'd uprooted our entire life and moved here."

She nodded slowly, not saying a word.

"It happened at a petrol station. He was coming home from work and stopped to get something to eat from inside. When he went up to the front counter to pay..." I took a deep breath, "a gunman came in. He demanded my dads wallet and the money from the cash register, and my dad tried to reason with him...and..."

I trailed off, trying to keep my composure. I half expected Peyton to ask questions, but she sat there silently, willing me silently to go on.

"The man shot him, and the cashier. My dad died instantly, but the cashier survived," I continued. "It was an open and shut case; tonnes of security footage, eye witness testimonies from the cashier and other customers, you know how it goes. He didn't wear a mask or gloves either, his fingerprints were all over the counter. The police showed up to our house at midnight to tell us. It was horrible. My mum had to go down to the morgue and identify his body. She's never been the same since....but, yeah. That — that's what happened," I exhaled loudly, not realising that I'd been holding my breath the entire time.

"I'm so sorry..." she whispered. "I'm sorry for asking you to watch the documentary...I just, I'm sorry for everything!"

"It's fine. Can you just...not tell anyone else? Please?" I asked her.

"I won't, I promise," she reassured me.

She reached out a shaky hand, attempting to grab mine. I snatched my hand away hastily, taking several steps backwards.

"I don't want your pity," I said flatly.

I tried to keep my emotions in check, to push them back to where I'd stored them for the past five years, to will the tears away that were threatening to spill over; but I failed. I sat on the couch beside Peyton and let the tears fall thick and fast. I felt her shift uncomfortably beside me before slowly shuffling over, wrapping an arm around around me. I let myself fall into her, laying my head on her shoulder and soaking her khaki shirt with my tears. Even in my sadness, I couldn't help but notice the way her arm fit so comfortably around my back, and my head fit so perfectly against her shoulder.