Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“I can help you—” he interjects.
“No,” I interrupt him. “I don’t need your help.”
“Ava—”
“I said, I don’t need your help,” I repeat as I run up the stairs.
He sighs but doesn’t make a move to follow me. Thankfully. Which is good because I need to concentrate on finding my father and I can’t concentrate on anything with Vance sitting next to me. It’s like a haze forms over my mind and my emotions go haywire with him near and I don’t need that right now. I need peace, silence, and a clear mind. I need to help my father, because even though my mother let him down, I won’t.
◆◆◆
Time ticks by slowly. Twenty-four-hours has passed since my father and I’s last conversation. I’ve been on edge ever since then. The lack of sleep I got because of worry hasn’t really helped matters either. I’m grouchy, irritable, and still have no idea what’s going on with him. I can’t focus on anything, which only angers me further.
Between classes, I’ve managed to call the rehab place twice but all they could tell me was that he checked himself out yesterday morning without any reason. They advised him not to, but he told them he was capable of making his own choices.
When I wasn’t happy with the answer they gave me, I asked to talk to one of the therapists there and he told me that my father was doing great up until a couple days ago, and that he was surprised that he had left so suddenly.
It didn’t make sense to me. The puzzle pieces weren’t fitting in their spots.
“Class dismissed.” Professor Hall’s authoritative voice pulls me from my obsessive thoughts. “Please leave your papers on my desk on the way out, and remember, you lose ten percent of your grade for every day that it’s late.”
Well isn’t this craptastic.
He wants the paper that I don’t have because some asshole decided to delete it, aka Vance. I could almost cry. The amount of pressure on my chest making it hard to breathe. There’s probably an ulcer the size of Alaska in my stomach from all the anxiety I’ve been having, and now I have to add this onto the heaping pile of cow shit.
Gathering up my books, I stuff everything into my backpack. Dragging my feet, I make my way up to his desk, dreading that I’ll have to explain myself to him. Never in my entire life have I been late handing in work. My grades have always been the most important thing to me, the only thing that mattered.
“Mr. Hall, about my paper…” I start, eyes cast down, shame written all over my face.
“No worries, Ava, I already know. Mr. Preston came in early this morning and explained to me about your laptop. I’ll give you a ten-day extension, and not a day more, get it to me as soon as you can.”
“What?” I blurt out, lifting my gaze to Mr. Hall’s.
He lifts a questioning brow. “Are you okay, Ava? I told you that I was giving you a ten-day extension and you say what?”
Oh shit. “No, no, that’s not what I mean. I’m sorry.” I shake my head flustered, embarrassed, and ashamed.
If it weren’t for Vance, I wouldn’t be in this stupid situation. Gripping onto the edge of my backpack, I take a step back and mutter a thank you, before escaping the confines of the room. Chewing on my bottom lip, I walk straight to my car and drive home. I try and call my father a couple more times, hoping, praying that his phone will be back on, but I get the same monotone computerized voicemail.
Beating a hand against the steering wheel, I roar in frustration. He’s all I have left. The last person on this planet that cares about me and there’s nothing I can do to save him. I wonder what he’s doing right now, where he is? If he has somewhere to stay? I know he’s an adult, but I can’t help but worry for him.
Moisture fills my eyes and when I pull into the driveway of the mansion, I park my car and wipe at my eyes, willing the pesky tears away. With my backpack in hand, I walk into the house, joyful laughter fills the space, and I tighten my hold on the strap against my shoulder. Their laughter grates on my last nerve and I snap like a rubber band pulled too tight.
“What’s so funny?” I ask, voice clipped.
They’re both standing in the kitchen, my mother near the stove, cooking. While Henry stands off to the side, a glass filled with brown liquid in his hand.
“Oh nothing, sweetie.” She looks up at me, smiling.
She’s smiling, and I’m dying inside. Why does it always feel like she and Henry are getting exactly what they want while everyone around them suffers?