Five things I see: ceiling, floor, door, my phone and Hope.
Four things I touch: duvet, my jeans and pillow.
Three things I hear: my parents, my thoughts, my heart beat.
Two things I smell: my cologne and the disinfectant.
One thing I can taste: Hope’s lips.
“Son, open the door. Now!” Dad commands.
Getting up, I walk to the door and fling it open.
Mom stares at me in worry and Dad looks slightly anxious and pissed.
“I’m here because I want to be alone.” I tell them.
Dad narrows his eyes. “Your mom and I want to talk to you.”
I arch an eyebrow. “About?”
“Why were you in jail?”
I’m surprised that he doesn’t already know. “They didn’t tell you?”
“They told me you beat up a man. They didn’t tell mewhy.”
Right of course, they didn’t. Because that bastard spun the narrative and made it look like he was the victim and I was the abuser. What a fucking asshole.
“What happened, hon?” Mom asks in a fragile voice that makes it hard to not lie to her. Worry lines mark her face.
“You don’t need to worry about it,” I say.
She takes a step towards me. “How can I not? I was asleep when I heard your father getting the news that you were locked up in a cell. It was Sebastian and he was really worried about you.Iwas worried about you when I pulled the news out of your father. Who didn’t want to tell me.” She glares at him before turning back to me. “We flew down here and I was thinking about you the whole plane ride. So don’t say I don’t need to worry because I can’t stop worrying until you tell me what’s going on!”
“Carol—”
Tears pooled in her eyes. “What’s going on? Why can’t you just tell us?”
I grind my teeth. “I just can't.”
“Why not? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything that I wasn’t supposed to do.”
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what I said.”
“But—”
“I need to be alone.”
I reach for the door, but Dad puts his hand on it and keeps it open.
“Your mother isnotdone yet,” he warns me.
I glare at him. “I am.”
