Dad glances around my room, and I can’t remember the last time he’s been up here to visit. Which makes it even more suspicious that he’s decided to visit my space at nine in the evening. Usually, our common meeting spot is the kitchen, but I haven’t been down in days. Opting, instead, to either grab fast food or have something delivered.
After what happened at the station, I haven’t been much in the mood for socializing.
“Ready to talk about it?”
I swallow a sip of cocoa. My focus shifts from the old sitcom muted on my television to Dad’s gaze. “About?”
He shrugs, trying to be casual. “Whatever’s bothering you.”
The taunting I endured from my coworkers echoes in my head, and all I want to do is forget about it. Talking won’t change anything.
“I’m fine,” I lie, tucking the comforter under my arms as I rest my back against the headboard.
Dad takes another look around my room, taking in the mess I’ve accumulated—empty food containers, clothes piled on the floor, a half-finished bottle of soda on the nightstand. Then, he arches a brow, calling my bluff.
“Want to try again?”
“Dad, I—”
“I heard you arguing with that guy you’ve been seeing the other night.”
His admission silences me. Yes, I knew he was spying from the window that night, but I didn’t expect him to actually bring it up.
“You’ve been seeing him for a while, right? You haven’t introduced me, but I see his car here from time to time.”
On top of everything else I’m feeling, embarrassment is now added to that list.
“A little over six months,” I admit. “But it was never that serious.”
He arches one brow again. “Six months seems likeplentyof time to get serious about someone.”
“It could be. But it wasn’t for us.”
There’s so much more I could explain, but that’s as far as I go. He waits quietly for a bit, maybe hoping I’ll elaborate, but I don’t.
“So, you two ended things. That’s why you’ve been… a little off lately.”
I maintain my silence, searching for words to explain, andnotexplain.
“Yes, it’s over, and I’m processing, but I’m fine without him. I’mbetterwithout him.”
My hands tighten around my mug when a hint of rage seeps in, reminding me of the ill-advised message I sent to Damien days ago. I can feel my father studying me, making me wonder if he’s buyinganyof this. Then, when he places a hand on my knee, forcing my eyes to meet his, I’m positive he hasn’t.
“I’d like for you to talk to a colleague of mine.”
I’m already rolling my eyes before he even finishes. “Dad, no.”
“Sweetheart, there’s no shame in getting help.”
“Don’t you think I know this? The point is that I don’tneedhelp. People separate from other people all the time, and it isn’t the end of the world. I don’t need couch time to work out my feelings about Martinez. Like I said, we weren’t even serious.”
He’s still staring when I finish, and I’m now one hundred percent certain the cocoa he brought up was merely a Trojan horse, a means of working his way into my space to suggest more doctors, more meds.
“What’s this really about?” My question hangs in the air a moment, and his hesitation to answer means I’m right. There’s more to him dropping in on me tonight.
He sighs, then glances toward the moving images on the television instead of meeting my gaze.
“I checked in with the pharmacy last week to see when you last refilled your meds. And, based on what they told me, it’s been months, Layla. Which, even if you were taking them, that would atleastmean you weren’t taking them as often as you should. So, when you were out this past weekend, celebrating with Dove, I… counted them.”