~ Chapter 3 ~

The drive home is silent. Even in my state it's not hard to tell Chris is mad, the rigid outline of his jaw firmly clenched and the whites of his knuckles severe as his fists cling tightly to the wheel. He wasn't used to this, I could tell, he didn't like having to bring a date home, before nine - to say the least. I knew when I was getting into this mess that he was the sort of guy that "dated" too often, he was known throughout the school as more of a "floater" but tonight I had ruined his glory. I can almost hear the cogs turning in his insignificant little brain (if that’s what you can call it), him trying to think of a logical reason, an excuse as to why he brought me tonight, why he had to rush home, why he wouldn't end up spending the night drunk with the rest of them.

By tomorrow, it'll be out; poor weak Inny couldn't handle the alcohol, couldn't hold it down, not even one glass. No, instead she had to force her escort, get this - Chris to drive her home, they left before it even hit 9! I can already hear their mocking whispers following me as I passed through the hallway, or their snidely sympathetic glares as I would wander across the quad to join the other girls who "don't get out".

The car screeches to a halt across the road from my dimly lit home, the blackness of the night envelopes its structure. With my insides still burning, my frozen fingers fumble with the carpeted car-door handle to my left. I can feel Chris' gaze boring a hole into the back of my scalp, he stares, watching me, rather than helping. Typical.

With an infuriated sigh, the door flies open, the bottom grazing against the rough kerb of the road, the sound of fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. Of course it's not my shuddering, but the sound of his beloved 'baby' being destroyed that pulls Chris to his senses. A river of defamatory language flows from his mouth, like a dragon spitting fire, the words sting my ears.

I do my best to ignore him, jumping out of the low car, I reach for my purse I left on the seat behind me. But its not the soft leather that greets my hand, instead its the calloused skin from Chris' hand catching mine. He's strong, and I can not resist against his tug, squeezing me tightly, I can just make out the glare of his eyes, shining n the darkness, piercing mine. If I could see his other features, I'm almost certain they would be pulled tightly, like the grip on my hand, static and devoid of emotion, they would be contorted into a face of anger.

Struggling, with all my might, I free myself from his unwelcome embrace slamming the door behind me, only adding to that of my previous damage. I will pay for that.

Carelessly, my feet hurl me across the damp street sending my body leaping over the short brick fence I remember too fondly - sitting upon as a child, my head resting in my mother's lap as she softly sung sweet songs. They continue to carry me up the stony foot path, dodging the numerous cracks and randomly scattered twigs, as though they have a mind of their own. Reaching the front door, just in time to hear the car I'd just ridden in skid off into the distance, my body collapses against the cold wire screen with a thud.

My mother's scream penetrates the night, but with no energy left, I do not bother replying, it won't be long before they come rushing to the door to see what is the matter.

~ * * * ~

My father's voice is relatively loud to begin with, so - his added anger makes the volume almost deafening. It can probably be heard a mile away - his deep voice echoing through our home and around the neighbourhood. The scowl on his face is one I have never witnessed first hand before, my elder sister Erin often warned me against it, but I never thought it would be necessary for me to pay attention. I never thought I'd be as dumb as her to actually aggravate him this much.

"You betrayed my trust!"

"Our trust" My mother interjects, her European heritage is pronounced as her voice takes on a thick Italian accent, rolling her 'R's. I force myself to think of a quick comeback but nothing comes to mind. I know I did the wrong thing, I know they trusted me, I know that it will take years to re-gain that trust. My shoulders slump and I can feel the weight of my body slide down the cream wall I have been leaning on. My mother glares at me as though she doesn't think its necessary to tell me for the millionth time not to lean on the wall. But I ignore her.

Now sitting on the cold wooden floor, my house looks almost like a ghost house rising before me. To my right, the small lounge room TV flickers dully, images from a crime scene envelope the screen. My parents must have been watching one of those late night murder shows, I shudder to think that they enjoy that sort of 'entertainment'. To my left, the tall lamp is sending off a pale yellow glow, sending my parents shadows bouncing off every wall. If I were but a few years younger, with my still crazy imagination the wooden dining table, with its spindly legs and the curved chairs to its side would have merely resembled the tall angular branches in the forest at night.

The strong alcoholic taste still burns my tongue and I release my jaw and let my mouth gape open hoping for the cool air to comfort it. Instead, I'm convicted to another exhibition of my parent's anger, just wait till I tell them about the car I ruined.