HIS GIRL

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER FOUR

ADAM

“Well, what if tomorrow we just pull up as bananas, Jax?” Dylan’s gaze twinkles under the parking lot lamp post, “Think about it. Everybody is always dressing as some historic figure but what if we just go as bananas?”

“So…we don’t make any effort?” Jax narrows his eyes for a dramatic second, “I’m in. Gotta applaud those two girls for their creativity. Seriously though, her friend is cute, I might ask her out one of these days,”

Their chat got lost in me, finding myself lost in a sea of a fantasy where life is perfect and I’m not constantly on edge of my sanity. Eventually, we drive home, Jax hitching a ride with Dylan. Standing outside my house, I stare at the entrance leading to the inside of the house. I can’t tell whether I’m too high or the front porch is a little too bright today. I chuckle, finding my own random thoughts quite amusing.

I open the front door, a gust of warm air hitting my face as I walk in. Mum has her eyes bored into another fashion magazine, dad is flipping through the channels aimless and my seven-year old little sister Joanne is the one who runs over, a wide smile on her face. Maybe she did not know it but her smile of happiness was what was keeping me together-or whatever pieces of sanity I have stacked up in this mind.

“Adam,” The way she calls is what seems to make my parents aware of my presence.

Dad takes one look at me, the grimness in his face deepening and I can feel the disappointment before he even speaks a word. His lips open then flutter closed, averting his gaze to the boring channels. He doesn’t have to say a word. He never does. But I know what he sees. Because I see it too every time I look at myself in the mirror. And the worst part? In less than two months, the most dreadful time of the year is coming up; the tension in my family going high with each passing agonious day.

“Were you smoking again? Adam, we talked about this. You want to ruin your life?” Mum snaps and I quickly hold my palms over my sister’s ears. She didn’t need to know all the cuss words that would soon be flying out of my mother’s lips. Even worse, I didn’t want the light in her eyes diminishing once she realizes her brother is not the angel she believes he is.

“I’m sorry,” I reply, not believing what I’m saying. But the word itself is never enough. It doesn’t feel enough. It's just a word people throw around and somehow expect it to have some profound impact.

“Can’t you do one thing right with your f*****g life?” She snapped, her tone rising with bitterness, “You know what? If the cops catch you, I’m not paying bail. You’ll stay in prison,”

“I’ll stop,” I lie because I know I won’t stop, “And I’m really sorry mum,”

She sighs,” I’m looking out for you son. You can’t mess around with your life like that,”

“I know mum,” I replied, taking a second before the next words rolled off my tongue, “Tonight I won’t be home for dinner. I’m taking Mia to the movies,”

The expression on her face relaxes visibly, “Well, we should invite her for dinner soon. You have been together for two years already,”

“I’ll talk to her,” Maybe I’m selfish but Mia, the girl I’m irrevocably in love with, is the sole reason I can make my parents go from disappointed to well, my definition of normal, in less than a second. Her name is enough to lighten the mood. In all the sick, twisted ways, the mention of her name is the only thing enough to make me feel like somebody in my own home.

“Son?” Dad speaks for the first time, making me look at him.

“Yes?”

“From next week, I need you to be more active in the bookstore. I’m already having a tough time manning the hotel, your mum is busy with the boutique. So you should chip in at the bookstore,”

“But what about basketball practice?” I ask, a little taken aback.

“Well, after basketball practise of course,”

“Fine,” I replied, walking up the stairs after handing my sister a kitkat bar. In my head, I’d wanted to scream at him for deciding for me but I knew he was trying to keep me off my friends. Well, he wouldn’t want them corrupting his son, now would he?

I turn on the lights in my room when I walk in, letting my backpack drop on the bed. A quick shower later and I’m staring in the fogged mirror above the sink and very much aware of the silence around me. My thoughts are ear-splitting and I let them punish me. Being in my room alone is the only time I feel the most real. No more smiles. No more playing nice. No more putting up a persona.

A quick swipe on the fogged bathroom mirror and a pair of lifeless dark brown eyes stares back at me under the wet strands of dark hair as a ghost of a smile touches my lips. The more I smile, the more I look like him; the son I took away from my parents. And I hate that smile. More than anything, I hate my own smile.