Take This to Your Grave

The next morning, I woke up with a headache. I did not want to get up and go to school. My dad had come up, knocking on my door, "Naomi, get up."

"I am up." I muttered.

He opened my bedroom door and found me still lying in my bed. "C'mon, kid, it's 7."

"Okay." I grumbled and sat up, "I'm getting up."

He left my bedroom; I rubbed my eyes and proceeded to usher and get my clothes together. I made my bed messily before going and having the quickest shower of my life. I finished up, brushed my teeth and hurried down the stairs; my dad was waiting by the door, jiggling the keys in his hand.

"I'm ready." I grabbed my bag from the couch.

My dad led the way out, I shut and locked the door behind me; as I went down the walkway, I saw Pete and Andrew heading towards the side of the house where their garage was. I paused upon seeing Pete carrying a suitcase and Andrew hauling a bag. "Hey!" I called to them, "Andrew!"

Andrew and Pete both stopped and looked at me; Pete turned back and kept going; my dad grabbed my arm, but I tugged away. Andrew and I met where our fence shared, "What's going on?"

Andrew looked at me, squinting at the morning sun, "Nothin'." He said simply.

"Andy!" Pete called, "C'mon!"

Andrew frowned slightly, "Sorry."

I exhaled and felt my dad's hand and fingers wrap around my wrist and tug me, gently, away. I blinked, then furrowed my brows, "What's going on?" I asked my dad angrily.

My dad let go of my arm as we got to his truck, "I talked to Dale and Peter. I told them--"

"Is Pete moving out of his own house?!" I exclaimed, backing away from my dad. "Are you serious?!"

"Calm down, Naomi--"

"No!" I felt the emotion bubbling and it made me even more angry. "Did they kick him out?!"

"Naomi, he's a grown man--"

"Goddammit!" I shouted, I'm pretty sure I woke the whole neighborhood. "Do you not understand that I did not fuck him!? You're acting like my mom, why can't you understand that I am responsible and I didn't have sex with Pete?!"

My dad grabbed my arm, pulled me hard towards the drive side of the truck and shoved me in, sliding in beside me. I scooted away, tossing my rucksack to the floor; "You need to calm down, Naomi." He didn't raise his voice.

I was brewing and wanted to hit something. I balled my fist and hit the dashboard with every inch of energy I had. I heard a knuckle bone crack and the pain didn't hit me for a moment. I cried and let the tears fall, not making a sound; my dad grabbed my arm, "What the hell is wrong with you?" He muttered, "It's broken!"

I bit down on my bottom lip, my eyes shut tight. My dad kept muttering and told me to calm down, take breaths. "I'm gonna take you to the hospital."

I didn't protest, I was still seething and was instructed to hold my wrist up. I didn't open my eyes until he stopped at the hospital; I knew because he said, "I'll come around the other side and get you."

My dad practically carried me into the hospital; the anger died, the pain rushed through my hand and arm. I hated myself for it, regretted it because I'm left handed and now I was screwed for school. I exhaled and let my dad handle everything; the doctor kept asking me questions to which my dad answered.

"She got pissed," he said, "She's a kid, y'know?"

I frowned at them as they laughed at me. I kept back all the saddened emotions brewing in me. I hated my dad at that moment; he made Pete go away and he upset me. I was ready to go off; especially once the doctor castes my finger and gave me some pain relievers. I felt on top of the world and bulletproof, but I didn't shoot off because the sickening qualm of my actions sat in my head. If I had shot my mouth off I would regret it later, so I shut up.

Upon my examination, I had broken my two forefingers, but I'd be able to write. The doctor gave me a prescription, cast up my fingers and sent us along. In the car, I played with the fuzzy wrap around my broken fingers, the ride was quiet.

"I might as well ask," my dad said he began our journey home, "What's wrong?"

I didn't raise my voice; "Pete's going away just because you're paranoid." I muttered.

"I am paranoid, Naomi. I don't want to be a grandfather."

"I am not stupid." I stated through gritted teeth. "If I did fuck him I would've used a condom."

"Naomi." His voice was hard and strict. "You don't understand--"

"Because I'm a kid! I know that!" I cried, "Jesus, everyone says I'm a kid, but I understand more than you think I do! I have been taking care of myself since I was 5 years old, ever since you sent me to Marlena!"

My dad almost skidded the brakes, he looked at me, "She wanted you to live with her."

"Yeah, and you know what?!" I was letting it all out, I hadn't cared anymore. "She left me alone all the time while she went out into the bars and clubs, gold digging. I took care of myself! I never asked you guys for anything, and this is the shit I get?! I can't have Pete as friend, I can't go out when I want to. I used I have to go to church and pray to forgive my sins. I have no sins, I've done nothing wrong!

"All I ever wanted was for someone to want me. To come over and talk to me, and love me and tell me that I am not alone when everyone else abandons you. Someone to tell me it's okay not to believe in Christian faith and that it's okay to be yourself. No, that's not what I get; I get a father who doesn't know how to take care of me and a mother who was glad to see me go. I got a bum rap and I do everything right!"

The cab was quiet, with my dad's eyes focused ahead. I knew he heard me, but I wasn't sure he heard me. I bit down hard on my lip and shook my head, letting tears fall.

"When I turn 18, I'm am so out of here. I'm done with it all; especially my mom. I quit. I'm tired of trying, I'm tired of being good and getting nothing--"

My dad cut me off, "I let you have freedom, you act as if I'm a warden."

"That's not what I'm talking about," I growled, "Did you not hear anything I just said?"

My dad shook his head, not as a no, more as a movement of disbelief. He was stuck.

"I'm sorry, is that what you want me to say?" He asked suddenly, "I'm sorry I've been a a shitty dad."

"You're not a shitty dad. You just don't know how to be one." I muttered. "And you shouldn't be sorry..."

The rest of the ride was quiet. He pulled up into the driveway and sighed, "I gotta go to work."

"Don't worry, I'm too sedated to care to open the door or windows for Pete." I grabbed my back and climbed out the cab; "I'm sorry I wrecked your future," I told him. "I never asked to be born, y'know. If it were up to me, I'd go back in time and pulled you out of that party."

My dad blinked, stunned. I climbed out and shut the door, hazily walking to the front door. It was still chilly out, the rain was going to come in. As I went in, I had the sudden urge to open all the windows in the house.

I went straight upstairs, my legs felt like jelly. I dropped my rucksack along the way and didn't bother to get it. I made my way into my bedroom; just as I had, I spotted a leg exiting. I smiled to myself when I saw Pete with his spooked eyes and froze stance; one foot out the window and the other planted on my bedroom floor.