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My patience is gone, and the unsettling feeling in my gut only becomes stronger. “What the fuck did you do?” I roar.
“It was an accident.”
His cocky demeanor from just moments before evaporates before my eyes and is replaced with a scared little boy. My heart feels like it stops in that moment.
“What was? Did you wreck my fucking car?” I whisper. Something is wrong. Very fucking wrong.
He only slams his mouth shut and shakes his head, swaying on his feet with how drunk he is.
He went out to a party tonight that I didn’t want to go to. Seeing him like this makes me second-guess everything leading up to his departure. I need to know what he did.
I’d been so over his shit earlier today. “Come on, Andrew,” he’d said when he’d invited me. “You never go out anymore! This is supposed to be a sick party. I even heard Megan was coming.”
Christopher knows I’ve been trying to get Megan to go out with me for months. He also knows how important this test is tomorrow. I need to ace my chem test so I can prove to my father that I’m good at this. That I can be a doctor and not a lawyer like him.
I couldn’t believe Christopher would try to brush it off. I’d told him to go and have fun, and I’d catch the next one. I even told him he could take my car so I could throw an olive branch his way. He could never pass up the opportunity to take my car instead of catching a ride or cab.
And in true Christopher fashion, he stomped toward the door like I’d pissed in his cheerios and shouted something about me needing to get out more and to get laid. He barely spat out a quiet, unconvincing “Thanks” before walking out without a backward glance.
Sometimes I wonder why we’re still friends. Christopher has become more and more like my father as the years pass. Cold, distant, and frankly, an asshole. However, we’ve been friends for so long that I don’t know another way. It is what it is. I shake my head, disappointed that we aren’t as close as we used to be.
It’s not that I don’t want to have fun. I just need to prove to my father that I can do this. If he senses one bit of failure or lack of focus, he’ll pull some strings, and the next thing I know, I’ll be signed up for pre-law classes instead of pre-med.
The only thing holding him off right now is that I’ve convinced him being a fucking doctor is still a worthy career, one that will benefit the family. That’s a thin line of control I’m still barely hanging on to. It could snap at any time.
Dad has tried to convince my sisters and me to follow in his footsteps, but so far, none of us have gone for it. That pisses him off to no end.
Christopher needs to get over it. I need a little more time, then I’ll be too far into my classes for Dad to have any sway. Then maybe Christopher and I can get back to how we used to be.
He grabs my forearms as he falls forward, pulling me out of the memory of him leaving for the party. I shake off his hold on my forearm, his touch making me sick to my stomach. He stumbles back, and his ass hits the refrigerator as he slides down and places his head in his hands.
Our front door swings open, startling both of us. I’m stunned to find my father standing in the doorway. His face is fierce, his mouth set in a hard line. He charges past me, his attention locked on Christopher.
“Are you sure you aren’t injured? I have a private doctor I can call if you need him. No one will ever know,” he tells Christopher earnestly as he leans down to help my friend stand from the floor.
I furrow my brow, confused by this whole exchange. Why isn’t my father insisting Christopher be checked out at the local hospital if he thinks he’s hurt? Why doesn’t he insist we call the cops? There was some kind of accident. Christopher just admitted it! And how the hell does my father know anything about it?
“How did you know?” It hits me then that Christopher must have called my dad. It would have taken him a while to get here from Sacramento.
My dad barely glances at me. “He called me; he needed me to come.”
I’ve always known they were fond of each other, close even, but why would he call my dad instead of his own?
“What the hell happened?” My dad’s booming voice bounces around the living room walls.
We landed in a comfortable three-bedroom condo not far from campus, and our mothers helped us furnish everything.
I shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. The sting of the cold kitchen floor bites into my bare feet. “He won’t say anything. He came home drunk off his ass and said there was an accident.” I answer because Christopher sure as shit isn’t doing any talking.
Dad’s anger turns to concern in a split second. He reaches out, cradling him by his neck, and speaks in the most patient, gentle tone I’ve ever heard from him. The whispers are as loud as screams in the otherwise quiet room.
“Tell me what happened, my boy. Tell me so I can fix it.”
“Dad…” I don’t understand why he’s here, and my patience is running thin with Christopher. What could be so bad?
“Leave us, Andrew.”
My brows furrow. “What?” I ask in confusion. Why the hell would I need to leave?
