“I’m not coming down!” I yell back.
“Are you hungry?” He asks, as I hear his heavy footsteps.
I roll my eyes. “Nope, I’m not hungry. Please, leave me alone.”
“Okay, honey. If you need someone to talk to…” He murmurs.
I sigh with annoyance. “That’s what my guidance counsellor is for!”
Before he can reply, I back into my room, shutting myself in it. I turn on CD player, punching the volume button until my ears hurt. The music’s so loud that I don’t hear my father open my bedroom door.
He walks in and sits on the edge of the bed. His lips move, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.
I yank an ear bud out and raise my eyebrows. “Pardon me?”
“I said… I’m sorry we fought. And, like I said… I’m here for you honey, but I just don’t think I can give you the help you need.” He closes his eyes and his face clouds over.
I smile, making sure the edges of my lips are turned up. “It is okay, Dad, really. I’m fine, and besides, I’m meeting with the counsellor at school.”
He pats me on the leg. “Alright, I’m just making sure…”
I smile wider, until he sighs and rises from the bed, shuffling towards the door. It worked. I fooled him yet again.
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I sit on the floor, my back pushed up against the bed. A tear squeezes out of the corner of my eye and runs down my cheek.
I stare at my left hand, and lightly caress the object closed in it.
I press the razor against the skin of my right arm. Fiery pain shoots up my arm and bloody ghosts seep out of the cut.
I smile through it and slip the blade into my bedside table before raising myself up off the floor. I wind scratchy tissue paper around the wound and my head instantly clears.
I slip on a sweater before walking out of my room. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, my dad stares at me quizzically.
“Why are you wearing a sweater, Emily?” He questions.
Lie. Lie. Lie. “The sweater…” I murmur. “I put it on because my room is chilly.”
“Um, okay. Well, if you’re cold, go wrap up in some blankets or something…” he mutters the last part to himself, “it’s nearly twenty degrees…”
“Good idea,” I agree lightly. “I’ll, uh, go get some… where are they again?”
“I think there’s one in the living room.” He says, turning away; towards his computer.
“Okay, thanks.” I say.
Our conversations don’t usually extend beyond that.
After I find the blanket, I wrap myself tightly before padding back into my bedroom.
I sit at my desk, realizing that I’m still reeling from my father’s chat room fiasco. How could he? Doesn’t he even notice how hard I’d take it if he started… dating this soon?
Although, maybe I could talk him out of it, or maybe do some exploring myself…
With that, I decide to sneak through his computer files again… even though it’ll probably get me in mountains of trouble.
