Chapter 7 The Dad
502 Words
My dad showed up at 6:12am.
I knew it was him because only he pounds like that. Like he wants to break the door down.
“Open up!”
“Open the damn door, girl!”
I froze. Phone on the counter. 3% battery.
I wasn’t supposed to be alone.
Then another voice. From the hall.
“Back up.”
Elias.
He was already there. In jeans and a black shirt. No shoes. Like he’d been sleeping on the porch.
Like he’d been waiting.
“What the hell are you doing here?” my dad spat.
“Protecting her,” Elias said. Calm. Too calm. “From you.”
“You don’t know anything about us,” Dad said. He looked at me through the peephole. “You! You were driving that night! You were with her! Stop hiding behind him!”
My hands shook.
Elias stepped between me and the door.
“She wasn’t driving,” he said.
The porch went quiet.
“What?” I whispered.
Elias didn’t turn around. He kept his eyes on my dad.
“I said she wasn’t driving, Mr. Martin. I was.”
The floor fell out from under me.
My dad laughed. Ugly. “You? You lying bastard—”
“I was driving,” Elias cut him off. “I was drunk. I swerved. I hit the car. I ran.”
No.
No no no.
I opened the door.
“Elias?”
He finally looked at me. And God.
He looked like he was going to throw up.
“Let me handle this,” he said softly. “Please.”
“You killed her,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
His jaw ticked. “Yes.”
My dad lunged. Elias caught him. Pinned him to the wall without even looking.
“You hear that?” Elias said, voice low and deadly. “She wasn’t driving. She wasn’t drinking. She wasn’t anywhere near it. You’ve been blaming the wrong kid for three years.”
He let my dad go. Shoved him toward the stairs.
“If you come back here, I’ll call the cops. And this time I’ll tell them everything.”
My dad left. Cursing.
Silence.
Just me and Elias on the porch.
“You knew,” I said. “All this time. You knew and you let me—”
“I didn’t know it was you,” he said fast. “Not until the funeral. Not until I saw you crying over her casket and I realized—”
“You should have told me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? The truth?”
He stepped closer. “From him. From the guilt. From me.”
I couldn’t breathe.
The man who made me tea. Who fought my dad. Who left stars under my windowsill.
He killed my sister.
“I have to go,” I said.
And I ran.
_I ran with his confession in my ears and Lila’s keychain in my pocket._
- Writer
