Free Wild Chase by L.A. Bressett Page B

In fact, I hadn’t spoken to them since that night. I was barely even speaking to Vic, who of course, pestered me nonstop about Avery. She knew my uncharacteristic grumpiness was more than just my parents’ punishment wearing me thin. I felt bad that I wasn’t opening up to her about everything, but I just couldn’t.
    In fact, I couldn’t do many things. I hadn’t even listened to music since that last night with him. I couldn’t bear to hum or sing without it reminding me of our time together.
    Waking up before my parents did that weekend, I hurried to get the first load of laundry started and fixed an easy breakfast for everyone. I made a fruit salad and set out bagels, almost robotically, and then immediately began dusting. It was only a little past seven in the morning when I finished and trudged back up to my room. I stood in the doorway staring at the room around me and un-ushered, his voice echoed through me.
    “You’re so much more than this.”
    I shut my eyes, trying to shut him out, but every fiber in my body screamed along with him.
    Steadying myself against the doorframe, I opened my eyes again and searched over the room for some sign of something to prove his beautiful timbre wrong. An old desk and chair, a basic lamp, a twin sized bed with a white afghan, white walls, an old clothes hamper, and that was about it.
    I closed my eyes, and although I didn’t try to picture anything, it just kind of popped up. A room painted in a deep shade of gray, like Avery’s incredible eyes. Ivory lace curtains and rock posters. I laughed softly at the drastic difference in taste. Pictures of Vic and I framed on every surface and sheets of music plastered all over. A bed covered in a pink and black leopard print blanket, and a ton of large, fluffy pillows. Fuzzy slippers lay on the floor, my guitar propped up beside my bed, and a huge stereo system against the wall just aching to be turned on.
    Opening my eyes again, the disappointment seeped through every vein as the drab, white walls around me erased all that I had just imagined. It was almost painful.
    Moments later, I found myself sitting cross-legged on the floor, in the middle of my room with my guitar. I don’t remember when I brought it home from work or why, but somehow, the music just started to flow.
    I sang my heart out, singing pieces of lyrics I’d been writing for a couple years about being trapped within myself, unable to just be me. Every word meant more than they ever had before, and the tears streaming down my face were evidence.
    As I lost myself in the song, so much so that I hadn’t realized that someone was watching me until the old floor boards creaked beneath his feet.
    My fingers fell from their strumming, and my eyes flew to the body in my doorway. My eyes met my father’s and his eyes appeared watery. I wondered how long he had been standing there; had he heard all of it? Was he angry with me? Did he understand how I felt? Could he even possibly relate to me? We stared at each other in silence for what seemed to last for ages, when suddenly, he broke it.
    “Are you done yet?” he said in the most harsh, unforgiving tone of voice. It pierced right through me. As if on cue, my mother’s ranting echoed out from the hallway.
    “Did you tell her to cut that out yet? All that racket so early in the morning is just ridiculous! Besides, she’s grounded! And that mess ain’t allowed in my house.”
    I blinked rapidly as my leg began to shake against the cold floor. It felt as if I were slowly coming unhinged with each word. My father’s eyes widened as he tipped his head to the side.
    “Well, didn’t you hear your mother? Hand it over.” I watched as he extended a hand out to me. I raised an eyebrow to him,
    “Hand what over?”
    He rolled his eyes and gave an exasperated sigh.
    “THAT!” he yelled, pointing to my guitar.
    My eyes slowly wandered away from the unfamiliar man in front of me and down to the old, worn instrument in my