Fast Car | Escapes #1

Chapter 6

"Dad's in the ER."

My world stopped for a moment. "What? Is he okay? What happened?"

He started the car, quickly pulling out of the parking space. "As far as I know, he's going to be okay, but he fell down the stairs at our place. He fell from the second floor to the first. Mom doesn't know how he is yet, but she said he was in pain, but otherwise seemed okay when she saw him last."

Brayden drove fast all the way to the hospital. I spent the time that we rode in silence asking for him to be okay. When we finally arrived, Brayden parked crookedly in a spot near the door to the ER and jumped out. By the time I fought with my dress and was standing, he was halfway to the entrance. I ran to catch up.

Mrs. Milton was in the waiting room when we got inside. She stood when she saw us. "They're going to let me know when we can go see him," she told her son as he wrapped her in a hug. "I don't know anything yet. I'm hoping they say something soon." As they pulled apart, she spotted me. "Oh, sweetheart." She came over and hugged me as well. "I'm so sorry. This must have ruined your prom night. We were so proud of you, too."

I gave her a squeeze and pulled back. "It's fine," I told her. It really was. "I'd rather be here for Mr. Milton than there."

She gave me a sad smile and pressed a hand to my cheek for a moment. Right about then, a nurse came out of the ER. "Mrs. Milton?" she called. 

"Oh, that's me. I'll give you two an update as soon as I can." She hurried to the lady waiting in the doorway and went on back, leaving all of her things in the waiting room. 

Brayden sighed as he walked over to his mom's things and sat down. "I'm sorry about tonight, too. You only get one prom and I was hoping to make it a good one for you."

My heart threw in an extra beat. "Don't worry - you did a good job." Why was he trying to make sure I had a good time after I said all that I did to him? I would have been trying to sabotage the night instead. "Your parents would have been proud."

He gave me a small smile. "Thanks."

We sat in silence for the longest time. I wanted to break it, but I couldn't think of anything to say that would be funny or make things better. He didn't seem bothered by the lack of conversation, though, so I tried to relax. 

What would I do if my dad went to the ER? I'd never really given it any thought, but right away I knew the first thing I wouldn't do: go to him. Why would I need to? At this point, I didn't care if he got hurt or sick. I didn't want him to die, obviously. He was my father despite whatever else he did.

Still, I wouldn't be that concerned. After all he's put me through, I wasn't sure I'd be able to bring myself to love him like I did as a child. Or care for him like I did for the man currently being treated. There were some things I was learning that I had a small capacity for, and his actions were one of them.

Every paycheck went to him. I cooked for him. Cleaned for him. He thought I wasn't in school, and he was fine with that. Preferred it, even. He would be mad if he found out I was going to classes. Since I was 16, he's been adamant that I don't need an education and that we were doing fine - all I had to do was keep bringing home the same amount every week.

Now and then, when I really sat down and thought about my life, I found that my tolerance was getting lower and I was burning out fast. I couldn't keep going like this. Both physically and mentally. I was stressing constantly about whether or not my dad would find out I was in school or whether he'd get suspicious about me bringing home the exact same amount every week.

It had been two years though. If he was going to get suspicious, surely he would have by now. But then, I was supposed to be hourly minimum with 40 hours every week, and some extra hours on the weekend. Maybe he figured I was getting off at exactly the same time every day. It wouldn't be a stretch, either, to say he probably stayed too drunk to think about it.

I looked over at Brayden. He was resting his forehead on his clasped hands. Worry was clear on his face. It was obvious to me that he hadn't had anything other than loving thoughts about his dad. He wouldn't understand anything about how I feel. 

Yet another reason I shouldn't think about anything happening between us. The gap between us was only widening the more I thought about us, our choices, and circumstances. What did he think about me? Did he know anything about me? I had a feeling he probably didn't. Probably for the best if not.

---

I tried to close the door silently behind me as I snuck back into my apartment. My dad would be upset if he found out how late I was coming back. As far as he knew, I was just working tonight, but it was past midnight. Because Brayden wanted to stay with his dad, he didn't bring me to the store until late. 

He was pretty confused when I told him to let me in there. I used the excuse that I left my stuff there and I needed it, which he seemed to buy. At the very least, he let me in the store. I rushed to change and get my bag together. When I got back out to his car, he eyed me curiously, but he never asked me anything. Which was fine with me. It wasn't any of his business.

Beer cans littered the floor of the apartment, so I didn't have high hopes of finding my dad in a good mood. He was usually grouchy when he drank a lot, and if he wasn't passed out, this did not bode well.

"Jenny?" I heard from his bedroom. "That you?"

My heart began racing. "Yes, Dad. Just cleaning up in here."

"Did you just get home?" Shuffling and squeaking came from his room, so I knew he was getting up. That wasn't good. 

I hurried to shove my bags into their usual spot and grab the trash can. I grabbed a can and had just tossed one in when my dad appeared in his doorway. He swayed and looked at me with half-open bloodshot eyes. I snatched the second can and tossed it into the  can before standing up straight and looking at him. "Are you okay? You look exhausted." He looked drunk. Not tired. Drunk. As a skunk.

"Do I?" He squinted at me and then the trash can in my hand. "You didn't answer me. Did you just get home?"

"A little bit ago, yeah." He didn't need to know how long a 'little bit' was.

He frowned. "What were they doing with you so late? You weren't messing around with someone were you? I thought I raised you better."

I hesitated. "Something happened to Mr. Milton, so I hung around to find out how he was." 

"What happened? He okay?"

"He fell down the stairs at his house. He's going to be okay, though."

My dad nodded and finally turned to go back into his room. When I heard him get in bed I finally released the breath I'd been holding. The bullet had been dodged. As long as he didn't think I'd been lying about anything, he wouldn't question me. 

A voice came from his room. Anxious, I padded over to the door and listened. "Yeah, just seeing how Richard's doing. Jenny said he fell or something?" He went quiet and listened for a minute. "I see. I hope he gets better fast. Sorry for bothering you so late. I just felt like I had to check. Yeah, you too. Bye."

He didn't trust me? I walked quietly back into the living room and went back to picking up the cans. What prompted him to call the Miltons? Didn't he trust me? Was I getting to the age where I lied more than I used to, at least in his mind? 

Had he found the bag in my closet?

I was so glad I was another day closer to 18. That was freedom. I could do whatever I wanted. Was that what was scaring him? Mom stuck around for years and when she got to the point of complete exhaustion, she finally left us. Was that weighing on him now that I was close to being able to do the same?

Can after can disappeared into the bin. Once I'd picked up everything, I started stress cleaning the kitchen. Dishes, counters, stove, floor - every surface was spotless by two in the morning. I was worn out from the day, but I was still tempted to burn nervous energy by cleaning the living room. 

My birthday couldn't come soon enough. I couldn't wait to get away from here. If I had a car and a license, I would probably leave the day of, but I couldn't because I couldn't drive and didn't know anyone that would run away with me. They would have probably all thought I was crazy. Brayden especially.

I mentally slapped myself for even considering saying anything to him. Maybe I was more tired than I originally thought. I walked down the hallway, yawning at the thought of digging out the duster. Definitely more tired than I thought.