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Maybe Cameron would be better off with an adult.
Someone who could parent him the correct way.
Chapter Six
Pyro
“Way to go, dickhead,” Scribe cursed. “You just made her cry.”
“Not cool!” Cameron shouted as he kicked me in the shin, before running out of the cabin.
Frank followed quietly, shaking his head.
Fucking great.
“Pyro,” Priest spoke up. “That young woman has been to hell and back. She recently lost both of her parents and instead of going to college, she’s raising her younger brother. Somehow, she’s paid the bills, kept this place clean and managed to put food on the table, all the while some jackass stole the money her father left for her. You know damn well that kid isn’t lacking in meals. I get you don’t want to be here, but that doesn’t give you the right to take your frustrations out on her.”
“She isn’t listening.”
“Because you are not talking to her. You are ordering her. For the last six months, Skylar has been the provider, the parent, and the sister. She hasn’t been able to be herself, Pyro. She’s been the one to make grown-up decisions she should never have had to make. Instead of treating her like an equal, likean adult, you are treating her no better than how you treat Cameron. She’s not a child, Pyro.”
“I know that.”
“Do you?” Scribe questioned. “Because from the moment we arrived here, you’ve paid her no mind. Hell man, you barely look at her. She’s a beautiful young woman. She’s scared to death. She’s been beaten black and blue and instead of showing compassion, you treat her like shit.”
“You need to apologize to her,” Priest stated, clearly angry with me.
Saying nothing more, I went in search of the girl.
I told King I wasn’t any good at this shit.
He should have left me alone and come himself.
I got that the kid asked for me, but there was nothing more I could do for them. I had my own life to live. I didn’t have time for some dirty brat and his stubborn sister.
Knocking on the door, I waited impatiently for any kind of response. When after a few seconds, I still hadn’t heard anything, I slowly opened the door to find Skylar sitting on the bed, looking out the only window in her room. Looking about the room, it was a typical teenage girl’sroom. All pink, purple and soft greens. A delightful assortment of pictures covered the walls. Snapshots of family gatherings, achievements from school, unforgettable times with friends and countless moments of pure joy, all meticulously attached to the walls using either tape or thumbtacks. Schoolbooks, neatly stacked against the wall, next to worn soccer shoes.
For a teenager, it was rather clean and tidy, which surprised me.
My room, at her age, looked as if a tornado had gone through it. My mom was always yelling at me to clean the damn thing. My dirty clothes were strewn everywhere. I don’t think I ever made my bed in the four years of high school. In the corner of my closet, a pile of schoolbooks sat still in their original packaging. Instead of sports achievements on my walls, I had posters of beautiful women and rock album covers. I never cared about keeping anything organized or cleaned. All I cared about was hanging out with my friends and seeing what trouble we could get away with and fuck me, did we get into trouble.
Stepping in, I didn’t go any further, not wanting to invade her privacy. From my understanding, teenage girls today were really picky about shit like that. Not that I would ever know. My Ellie never cared about privacy where I was concerned. But Skylar wasn’t my Ellie and never would be, so what did I care?
“I’m sorry.” I blurted out, eager to get this shit over. I wanted to get them packed and the fuck out of here. I didn’t know what it was about the place, but it made me nervous, which puzzled me because that was unlike me. Typically, nothing rattled me, especially after I lost Ellie. It was like nothing really mattered anymore.
So why was I suddenly feeling nervous?
That’s when I realized it wasn’t a something, but a someone.
She made me nervous.
“Okay,” she sniffed, her back still facing me.
Huffing, I let out a deep breath, raking my hands through my hair. I didn’t know how to do this. I never apologized. Ever. Not even when I knew I was wrong. Not that I was often like Gunner. Now that idiot was proficient at apologizing.
Still, I said I would apologize, and I would.
“It was wrong of me to say what I did.”
