An hour passes before I finally push myself to my feet and force my legs toward the stairs.
I’m only on the second step when my phone pings.
Dad:On the way home with Milo. Should I keep him tonight?
Me:Probably a good idea.
Dad:Be a man.
I put my phone back in my pocket. When I tell Dad what I said to Lore, he’s going to give me the beating I know is coming.
I stop outside our bedroom door.
My hand shakes as I lift it to knock. Then wait for permission to enter my own bedroom.
“Lore?”
My voice cracks on her name.
Silence.
I swallow and try again. “Lorelie… can we talk?”
More silence.
A pit opens in my stomach. Isn’t this what I did this morning, when I was too busy drowning in guilt and letting her think, it was because of her.
Resting my forehead on the door, I close my eyes and just try to breathe.
“Please,” I whisper. “Just… talk to me.”
Nothing. Not a sound.
I have no idea if she’s ignoring me, or crying, or if she doesn’t want to hear my voice ever again.
“Dad said he’ll keep Milo tonight,” I say through the door, hoping that’ll get her attention. “Give us time to talk.”
Still nothing. Not even a shift in the floorboards.
I’m too scared to twist the handle. She’d be right to lock it. It doesn’t mean it would hurt any less.
Leaning my back against the wall beside the door, I slide down to the floor.
“Please, Lore.” I beg, not loud enough for her to hear. “Please.”
Chapter Seven
Lorelie
I grab the Keurig cup and pour it into my travel mug. Once it’s full, I dump the rest down the drain. I’m not hungry.
It’s not just me though. So, I pull one of the overnight oatmeal containers from the fridge and slip it into my bag for later.
“Hey,” I hear from behind me.
It takes everything in me not to jump.
“Hmm” I let out a noncommittal hum as I pretend to focus on tightening the lid of my mug.
