Chapter 2

The funeral was three days later and two days before school started again. School. Damn. School was going to be a miserable façade. I shook my head, not wanting to think about it.

My father and I had gone to visit the scene of the crash a day after the accident. Sharpay had remained at home due to the "emotional stress" that it could cause. Perhaps she was the smart one…

The car was in terrible condition. It was bent totally out of shape; the windows had shattered, leaving glass all over the seats and the dashboard. She had been driving on a straight road, so she had probably been going at least 60 miles per hour.

I closed my eyes, trying to envision the last few moments of her life. I could almost feel the panic boiling in her stomach. I could almost hear the screech of the tires, the loud crash, the sickening crunch of various bones. I could almost smell the smoke. Almost…

Reopening my eyes, I saw my dad walking around the car. He had the face of a stoic, and it worried me. Spontaneously, he would touch the car- the steering wheel, the seat, the hood. Chewing on his bottom lip, fighting back tears, he turned to me.

"Now there's nothing left to our imaginations. We can surmise almost exactly what happened," he said monotonously. "Our minds can't play tricks on us anymore."

I gaze at him for a moment, wondering what he was talking about. Then it hit me. He must have been having nightmares and needed to confront the truth before he could move on.

"Come on," my father said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. My father had never been a touchy-feely kinda guy, so this gesture was kind of weird.

"Things are going to be a lot different from now on," he said, squeezing my shoulder hard. A little too hard. I squirmed and winced a little bit, pulling away from him as we reached the car. Before I got in, I gently massaged my shoulder. It would probably be a bruise by tomorrow (I bruise easily).

The car ride home was virtually silent. The radio was tuned on to a country station, turned down low. It took all my willpower to not reach out and turn the mournful music off. However, my dad seemed to be content listening to it so I figured I could tolerate it for ten more minutes.

It was still sinking in that my mother had just died. It seemed like just yesterday she had been sitting with us at dinner, talking about what we were doing in school, how her job was going, and asking about Dad's day. Heck, it almost was just yesterday. The mere thought of knowing that I would never again see her walk through the door with a cheerful smile on her face was so devastating that I felt like my life had become one of the country songs my dad was so fond of.

As my dad pulled into the driveway, we came to a complete stop and my dad put the car into park and turned off the ignition. I was about to open the door to get out when I noticed that he was still sitting behind the wheel, motionlessly staring at the house with blank eyes. While it was incredibly awkward in the car, I didn't think it would be right to just leave him alone while he was in so much pain.

"Dad…" I began, but the words faded from my mouth as he began to bang his fists on the steering wheel, angry tears streaming from his face.

"Why did he have to be her?" he hissed. SMACK, SMACK, his fists hit the steering wheel, making me jump slightly. "Why the HELL did it have to be her?" He turned his angry gaze to me, making my blood run cold. "Why couldn't it have been you?" he snapped, reaching out and punching me hard in the arm.

"Dad, what…" I started again, my voice trailing off as he punched me again in the arm, harder. I was starting to get scared. Really scared.

My dad and I had never gotten along. He wanted a son who could be strong, all muscles and no fat, all sports and no fun, all hard and no soft. I was just the opposite. I hated sports and while I'm not fat, I'm definitely not muscular, and I'm far to emotional for my dad's taste (even though I haven't actually displayed emotions in years). To put it bluntly, I was the failure my dad had never wanted. I was the son that ended up being the biggest disappointment of his life. As such, our relationship was pretty much idle chatter with little or no meaning and occasional glares or snide remarks on his part. As for me, I gave up trying to please him years ago, after discovering that nothing I would ever do could possibly ever convince him that I was worthy of loving.

So here I am, sitting in a car with my infuriated father who has just lost the most beloved person in the world to him. And I have been reduced to his punching bag.

"IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU!" he roared, this time slapping me hard across the face. I yelped slightly and backed away from any more attacks. "SHE WAS OUT TO BUY YOUR BIRTHDAY PRESENTS! YOU KILLED HER! IT'S YOUR FAULT!"

At this revelation, I flinched back, a wave of guilt washing over me. Sharpay's and my birthday is in a week. This would be our first birthday without Mom. And knowing that she had died while buying my birthday presents hurt far more than any of the blows that my father had dealt me.

I sat frozen, dwelling over the guilt that I felt as my dad hit me a few more times in desperation. I didn't even feel it anymore. I was numb to the physical pain. As for now, the emotional agony was far worse than anything my dad could have done.

Eventually, he exhausted himself out and slumped against the steering wheel. I sat straight, staring out the front window blankly, not really seeing or feeling anything except guilt and pain. The echo of my dad's words reverberated through my mind. "YOU KILLED HER! IT'S YOUR FAULT!" Indeed it was. I killed her. It is my fault. It's my fault…

After a while, my father must have realized what he had just done, for he looked up at me, horror shining through his eyes. "Oh gods, Ryan," he whispered softly, looking at me as if he had never seen me before. "I can't believe I…I am so sorry. I didn't mean…I mean, are you…I'm so sorry. I'm just so…can you please forgive me? I really didn't mean to…I'm sorry."

I glanced up at him, not caring what he said. In my opinion, there was nothing to forgive. I had totally deserved his rage. I actually probably deserved more. But I couldn't tell him that. I knew he felt bad. Just because we didn't get along didn't mean he wanted to beat me. But there are always exceptions to the rules, and this is one of them.

So I merely smiled slightly, and shrugged, my way of accepting his apology. Although it didn't ease my personal guilt and physical pain, I knew it would ease his if I simply acknowledged his apology. I didn't want to upset him more. I would always do everything in my power to keep him happy.

That's just the way things are.

A.N. I'm sorry it was such a long time since I last updated. I suck at updating and thinking so it takes a while sometimes. I actually know where I'm going with this one…I think. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you feel inclined to do so, please review. Otherwise, thank you for reading.