Home

Parker simply remained silent, nodded once more, and then just drove away.

The home was eerily quiet when I entered, but as soon as I entered the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of my dad lounging near the countertop, chopping vegetables all composed and calm.

He leaned towards the work, turning his large shoulders away from me.

"Hi, Dad," I spoke, attempting to sound calm, despite the fact that I was still shaken from the experience.

"Already?" he said, shifting a bit towards her, his eyebrow rising.

"Yup, you too man," he replied, staying super laid back.

"School let out early?"

"Seniors," I said quietly while walking to the refrigerator.

"Most of them didn't show up," I replied.

"Whoa." My dad hesitated for a moment, then sort of shrugged it off as though he didn't mind at all.

“Weird.”

I grabbed a bottle of water, opened the cap, and leaned on the counter to take a sip.

My father noticed me out of the corner of his eye and sort of hesitated for a moment with his knife.

"Can you hand me a knife, though? This one's becoming quite blunt."

I nodded and walked over to the drawer to retrieve a sharper one.

I placed it in his hand, and he took it without even looking my direction. But then, when he wrapped his hand around the handle, he glanced up and caught my eye.

It happened really fast—a quick stop—but then he just kept looking.

He stared at me much longer than he normally does, and I definitely felt that familiar heaviness of his gaze, like he was attempting to discern something I wasn’t going to reveal.

My pulse quickened.

"What's this?"

I was just going to move when he gently knocked the flat side of the blade on my neck. I flinched slightly as the cold metal came in contact with my flesh. That’s when I felt it—a slight sting, the warmth where his knife had struck me.

A hickey.

My heart sank. My throat went dry, and I stood frozen, too shocked to move.

My father's lips twitched slightly, not exactly a smile, but rather a "that's funny" look. "Cyrus," he repeated slowly, his tone low. "What's the setup here?"

I didn't speak. I couldn't. My mind was a mile a minute, but I couldn't put words to it. I just stood there, my face burning, gazing at him wordlessly.

He chuckled, but it wasn’t a warm laugh. It was sharp, cutting.

He said it again, a little louder this time, leaning a bit closer.

“Who did this?”

I was attempting not to cry, seriously on the verge of tears. My chest was really tight, and I could hardly breathe. Yet still, I didn't say anything. I just couldn't make myself speak.

He squinted, getting rather annoyed. He tsked in frustration and slammed the knife on the countertop with a sharp clang.

"Let's talk about it later," he said, rather seriously.

He didn't utter another word, rather he turned and left the kitchen, leaving me standing there with my mind reeling.

I wasn't aware it was a thing.