These next few chapters may get a little dark. My writing may change at this moment in time and become darker and less lighthearted. I'm sorry if you don't like that, but this is my coping mechanism. Writing is my outlet and how I vent. If you read my latest message you'll understand.
Just a heads up.
~your p.o.v~
I sat in the back seat of my mom's car while Bob sat in the passenger seat. Both of us were clearly out of it and in our own little worlds, but our mom continued to ramble as if we were actually listening. She was going on about how worried she was or something like that.
Bob hadn't spoken at all and I couldn't help but worry. Was he okay? Was he mad? I still wasn't able to comprehend why he was so upset in the first place. It might've been indirect anger, but what got him back into his old ways in the first place?
I didn't want to think anymore. I just wanted to be with the gang.
I stayed silent and allowed my mind to be somewhere else. Somewhere far far away from the car I was trapped in with my brother.
Even when we pulled up to our house, I just immediately crashed onto the couch and stared at the ceiling.
My mom walked in close behind with Bob and spotted me on the couch. She immediately looked worried.
"Awe, sweetie..." She trailed off. I didn't want her pity. I just wanted everyone to shut up, I didn't want to look at her or my brother. Both of them made me feel sick to my stomach.
The reason I didn't want to look at my brother was simple. He was the one who got us into this mess. He was busy telling me off for absolutely nothing and that caused him to crash.
My mom on the other hand, I wasn't sure. The thought of having pity just bothered me. I didn't want pity.
"You're probably in shock." My mom spoke, walking over and turning on the TV. I guess it was nice background noise. It was some form of distraction from the events that had played out earlier today.
Bob had gone upstairs, probably to his room. I couldn't tell how he felt, his silence sent mixed signals. I couldn't tell if he was being quiet due to anger, guilt, or the feeling of being completely numb. I was experiencing the third one, and I couldn't help but wonder what he was experiencing.
Around thirty minutes later I saw Bob come down the stairs. Usually he rushed down the stairs, taking swift, quick steps. This time, he walked slowly, not skipping any steps like usual. I didn't find this behavior unusual, it could be from his concussion. Maybe he just wants to take things slow.
He walked to the doorway and I heard him slipping on his shoes. I scrambled to the edge of the couch and leaned over it so I could get a good look at Bob.
"Where are you going?" I asked, the words coming out with more force than intended. Bob looked at me and stayed silent for a moment before turning his attention back to putting on his shoes.
"Out."
Well that gave me absolutely no information at all.
"Where?" I asked.
"Just out with Randy and the guys." He spoke dully and slowly.
"You sure that's a good idea? Who's car are you taking?"
As if on cue, there was a honk outside.
"Randy's driving." He answered. I gnawed at the inside of my cheek.
"Okay... Just be careful." I mumbled. He put his hand on the doorknob and then looked back at me.
He seemed as if he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure if he should.
"What is it?" I asked as nicely as possible. He paused for a moment, averting his gaze.
"I just... I'm sorry." His voice was surprisingly soft.
Before I could say anything he was out the door.
I sat there, dumbfounded. Was he apologizing for the wreck? Was he apologizing for yelling at me?
I sighed, falling into the couch. I let my eyes wander to the clock on the wall and it was 8:13. I decided I'd just watch TV to pass the time.
-
I opened my eyes, and saw that all of the lights in the house were off. The only thing illuminating the living room was the TV, which was now on silent since everyone was probably sleeping.
I looked to the clock and saw it was 11:00. Was Bob home yet?
I sat up and stretched, deciding I'd check his room to see if he got home. I stood up slowly, trying not to move too quickly due to my concussion.
I slowly made my way over to and up the stairs. I walked down the hallway all the way to Bob's room.
The door was wide open and the light was off. He always slept with his door closed. Was he not home yet?
I immediately felt a bit nervous. I walked in and flipped the light switch on and came face to face with an empty room. His bed was unmade, a few items of clothing scattered on the ground.
I spotted his letterman's jacket in the mess and slowly walked over to it.
The Letterman's jacket was red and blue, our school colors. There was an R on the front left part that stood for Robert and on the back, in big block letters was our last name, Sheldon.
I picked it up, a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I rubbed the soft material in between my fingers, a hint of cologne coming from the jacket.
I folded the jacket and set it on his bed, immediately hurrying out of the room and into mine. I quickly threw on my shoes and looked up into my mirror, catching a glimpse of my reflection.
I paused, seeing tiny scratches scattered all over my face and a big bruise on the right side of my forehead from where it slammed into the dashboard. The scratches must have been from the broken windshield.
I decided to ignore it for now and hurried out the door, not caring if I didn't grab a jacket for the brutal winter weather. I almost tripped down the stairs, but didn't let my clumsiness slow me down at all. I ran out the door, wondering where the hell my brother could be.
It reminded me of the night I met Ponyboy and Johnny. How my brother almost drowned poor Ponyboy in the fountain, despite the fact that they were on their own property...
Wait.
The fountain.
That might be where he is.