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I may only be sixteen, but it was pretty obvious to me that she wanted someone to listen to her. Most ten-year-old girls don’t know how to handle their emotions. I don’t even know how to do that now.
“Clark, mind your own business,” my mother chastises.
I put my hands up in defense. Our parents were cut from the same cloth.
I head upstairs, peeking my head into different rooms, looking for Marley. I finally find her in the corner of her bedroom, sniffling.
“Are you okay?” I lean down next to her.
“What? Yes. I’m fine,” she says, wiping her eyes and straightening up.
No doubt trying to take her mother’s advice and not let me see any emotion.
“It’s okay to cry, you know,” I tell her.
“No, it’s not,” she says, standing up, walking into her bathroom, closing the door behind her.
One day, years from now, we’re going to realize just how much our parents monumentally fucked us up. That day will come when we’re trying to form relationships and deal with our emotions.
“Yeah, I think that’s what she was taught to do.” I sigh, pulling myself from my memories.
“That’s a sad way to go through life,” Delaney says, opening the door for the both of us.
She’s not wrong, but when you don’t know any other way, I guess it doesn’t seem so bad.
I find Riley sitting at the kitchen table when I walk inside. She’s on her phone, of course, barely paying attention to anything around her.
“Is this what you’re going to do the entire trip?” I ask, dropping my luggage down at her feet.
“What now, Clark?” she says, rolling her eyes.
“Are you going to be on your phone the entire trip?” I ask, waving my hand towards her cell phone.
“What else is there to do?” She sighs, putting it down on the table.
“I don’t know, can you communicate with me? Have fun?”
“You’re such a fucking woman sometimes,” she says, getting up from the table. “Where’s our room?”
I’d rather stick needles in my fucking eyes than share a room with her right now, but I’ve got no choice. I never should have brought her here.
“Down the hall, to the left,” I say, walking around her.
“Aren’t you going to grab my bags?” she whines.
“No.”
“You’re such a dick,” she mutters under her breath.
Once we’re in our bedroom, I throw my stuff down and turn to leave the room.
“Where are you going?”
“To see if anyone else needs help.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, Riley, seriously,” I say, before leaving the room.
