Take This to Your Grave

"Explain to me," my dad began as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "What you've been doing with Pete."

"Nothing!" I said quickly, "I'm so serious, dad. We don't do anything but talk. We don't have sex, we never kissed. We don't even touch hands."

Should've I lied? I did, so what now?

"We've done nothing," I continued. "I swear on my life that we don't do anything! He's a jerk anyway..." I trailed and plopped down on my bed, "Yeah, I like him but I didn't do anything with him that I know you wouldn't want me to do. I'm not stupid."

My dad's anger eased, he sighed and shifted on his feet; "I know you're not stupid. It's not you I'm worried about, Naomi."

I looked at him, "Then why are you so angry?"

"You kept this from me!" He exclaimed, "Jesus, Naomi, you got him sneaking up here while I'm gone!"

"I never did!" I continued to lie, even as I was caught. "He walked with me when I was walking Princess."

My dad shook his head, his hand threading through his head, "Do you know what kind of guy he is?"

It was rhetorical, but I answered; "He's a nice one! He likes me, and he listens to me! He may look like some punk asshole, but he's not."

He was just an asshole.

My dad watched me, and then he sighed again, "I still don't approve of this. I don't care how nice he is to you, I don't trust him. I was 20 years old once, and look what happened; I had you."

He said that whole thing as if I were such a hazardous event. As if my birth warped his entire life; it did actually. He's life changed and my mom's didn't, and I always thought maybe he resented me and her for it. In a way I got the answer and it hurt. I'm the kind of person that would've blurted out how much I hated what he said, but instead, my brain had fizzled and I was put down.

I couldn't look at him any longer. He gave a few more sighs before leaving my bedroom, and leaving me in silence. I swallowed the pain and sobs that were coming up and kept it down; I don't cry so easily and I wasn't about to. I exhaled and rubbed away the stray tears lurking, ready to seduce more, and kicked my shoes off. I was starving, but I wasn't hungry; I felt hallow and tired; homesick almost, as if I were a stranger.

I can't explain how I really felt. My body was a robot and my brain was surging with unfamiliar feelings. My entire being was all fucked up. I wanted to leave, I wanted to run away from these feelings. I wanted to find Pete or Babette, I needed something more familiar than this house, this bedroom.

It was tempting to go out the window, but I couldn't move my feet. My feet were lead, I couldn't move at all. I fell back against the bed and stared at the ceiling, letting the feelings resonate within my body.

But, as life would have it, I only laid there for 30 minutes before my dad came back up. He looked a lot calmer than before; he didn't sigh, he knocked on my door, "C'mon, Naomi."

I sat up; holding back some retort, I was too exhausted. "Where are we going to go?"

"Amy picked the place." He answered.

"Okay."

I got up, slipped my shoes back on and followed my dad. Everything seemed to go by quickly, and my head was all over the place, or maybe on nothing at all. The ride was quick, and I didn't eat anything at all; I was quiet, and Amy kept talking to me. If answer her in few words and apologize about it.

"I'm tired, Amy," I forcibly smiled. "Thank you for inviting me."

Amy had smiled back me, genuinely, "You're welcome. We don't talk much."

"I'm not much of a talker." I said softly, she heard, though.

The rest of the meal went by quietly with my dad and Amy engrossed with one another. I could barely make myself eat the food I had ordered; it was just a sloppy joe and some fries. I felt sick when the food slid down my throat, my stomach bloated with each swallow. I didn't want to eat, I wanted to crawl beneath a blanket and wait for this all to end. My emotions were new and scary and made me terribly sad.

Dinner ended and then we went home; again, I was quiet. I had wondered though if my dad had told Amy what happened. She didn't gasp or anything when they talked, but she could've held it in. She did smile a lot and patted my arm. What did it mean? I tried not to worry about it.

At home, we entered quietly, my eyes were forward. The steps up to my bedroom felt like terror, but I went up them. In my bedroom, it was just as I left it; I went to my windows, locking them up and closing my blinds and curtains.

I changed into pajamas, crawled into bed and turned on my TV. My movements were fluid, I was a masquerading robot. I was tired, but couldn't close my eyes. I laid in my bed listening to whatever infomercial was on. I could feel the tears sneaking up on me, but I held them in; it hurt like a bitch to do so.

I finally fell asleep, and then woke up early in the morning. My necklace was twisted in my hair; I tugged at it until it loosened and fell against my chest. I looked at the clock, seeing it was only 4:30 AM; I shut my eyes and counted.

Counting didn't help; and then the events from earlier played in my head. I unwillingly found myself crying and my lip quivering; I buried my face into my pillow and cried. My breaths were heavy and choking me, but I didn't care. Everything crashed down on me like a ton of bricks. I wanted a familiar place and this wasn't it; I was a stranger in this place.

I grabbed the broken heart from against my neck and fingered the smooth edges. Pete's face filled my head; I never apologized for blowing up, and he didn't apologize either. It didn't matter much anymore, but I missed him; only a few hours and I missed him. I'm in love with him and he's all I want. Faith is not on my side.

I laid on my back and put the pillow over my face. I continued to cry until I fell asleep again. I hoped that maybe my dad would leave the house; his presence made me feel more and more burdened and unwanted.