“I’m a grown man now,” he had told me on the car ride over. “I need my space.”
"You need your own house,” I muttered for the one-hundredth time.
"I'm getting a job," Colt protested. "And going back to college."
I didn't have a response to that. I had heard the same story thousands of times. He would come up with an excuse not to do any of that stuff, that I was sure of.
The hallway was long and barren, almost eerie in the artificial lighting. I noted, with some satisfaction, a bathroom adjacent to my desired bedroom. Hopefully, I wouldn't have to share with my siblings. Karissa made it a habit to leave her makeup and curling iron on the counter, and Colt was a slob. Laundry room? He hadn't heard of it. No, he apparently believed that the ideal place for dirty clothes was the linoleum tiles of the bathroom.
The door at the very end of the hallway was cracked open. Smiling with anticipation, I pushed it open the rest of the way.
It was small, though I hadn't expected anything else, and devoid of any trinkets or memorabilia. The flooring was a dark, mahogany wood that worked surprisingly well with the beige walls. A single window showed off our neighbor's house, brown siding obscured slightly by the tiny fence.
"I knew you would like this room," Dad said from behind me.
"It's cute," I agreed. It may have been small, but it was positively darling. I already could envision where my furniture would be set up - head of the bed against the wall, dresser beside the closet, my bookshelf in the far corner. It wasn't Chicago, but it would have to do. It would never be my home though. But maybe, just maybe, I could make it livable.
"The movers are bringing in the furniture," he continued. "I was thinking in a couple of hours we could go out to dinner. Check out the town."
He shrugged helplessly and something akin to guilt tore through my chest. My parents tried so hard to be the best that they could be. Moving across the country, getting a new job...they honestly believed that it was the best course of action for their family. I couldn't fault them on that, even though they ruined my life in the process. I knew I was being a brat; I knew that I was making this whole situation harder than it needed to be. I vowed to myself, right then and there, that I would not shed another tear for the place I had left.
No, I only had to wait a year before I could go back. Once I turned eighteen, there would be no stopping me. Jaron and I have already talked about colleges on the east coast. Fiona would want to come too. It would be the three of us, my boyfriend and my best friend, against the world. As it should be.
I smiled wistfully at the fantasy, and my dad, mistaking my smile as acceptance of his proposal, blew out a sigh of relief.
"I'll let your sister and brother know." He paused, fingers clenched around the doorframe. "We love you Camila. You know that, right?"
I smiled at my father warmly.
"Of course I know that. I love you too."
And I did. My siblings may annoy the shit out of me and my dads may be a bit too protective, but they were my family. They were the people I could count on when I thought about succumbing to the darkness. They were my light.
Dropping my boxes onto the floor, I froze suddenly. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as if bolts of electricity were coursing through my skin. My hands turned clammy by my sides.
I knew it was irrational to believe that someone was watching me, yet that pesky feeling wouldn't go away. It was almost as if I was standing on an elevated platform, stage lights glaring down at me. I was aware that there was an audience, but individual faces remained indistinct.
Glancing over my shoulder, I stared out the window. There didn't appear to be anyone in our yard, and I scoffed at how ridiculous I was behaving. Colt's conspiracy theories were finally getting to my head.
Still, the feeling that someone was watching me did not diminish. If anything, it grew.
"Nothing sounds good here," Colt said, glaring at the menu as if his eyes could physically penetrate through it. I rolled my eyes once again at my brother's dramatics.
"Do you have to complain about everything?" I asked.
"Do you have to be such a bitch?" he fired back, earning himself a glare from both of my dads. Dad hated when we swore, especially with what he considered as unnecessary colorful language. I had learned to get quite creative with my use of swear words. It was so fudging annoying. See? Even my mental thoughts were beginning to turn on me.
We had found this restaurant downtown. We had to park at a meter, a couple of blocks away, because there were no opened parking spaces closer to the restaurant itself. Despite the numerous cars in front of the nondescript building, we were able to be seated right away, underneath a bear head.
Yup. You heard me right. A good old bear head, as if Yogi himself was judging what I ate.
The restaurant was, admittedly, cute with a couple dozen wooden tables in the center of the room and a long bar opposite the door. The decorations adorning the walls varied from animal heads to dated newspaper clippings. There didn't seem to be a set theme to the diminutive diner, but the overall feel of the restaurant was homey. Comfy.
Our family had only garnered a few stares as we
