I stared at the screen; watching a familiar scene of a movie I had committed to memory, unfold. I crunched loudly on the popcorn, scooping continuous handfuls, and shoving it quickly into my mouth. My hands were covered in butter, and ever since I was little, I was known to suck the flavour off of my fingers.

I was bored. On a Sunday night, here I sat, alone in an empty house—staring at the roaring glare of the TV, ignoring the scripted conversations. I sighed, deciding to change the channel and find something better to occupy my time.

As I flipped quickly from channel to channel, I heard the door in the kitchen slam shut, making me get up from my position on the couch. Walking in, I found my dad sneaking in, wincing as he recognized the mistake he made in 'breaking-and-entering'.

"Burglars are supposed to keep quiet," I stated, wrapping my sweater tightly around my body.

"Well...I thought no one was home, until I saw the blue light coming from the living room. At least it was just you Amy."

"Afraid mom was here?"

He scoffed, "No...but if I was afraid...is she here?"

"No dad."

"Good."

For the past weeks, I had only seen my dad a handful at times. At first I just thought it was the occasional business trip here or there, the need to stay at work after the hours, or just out bonding with his friends. I was wrong.

He got kicked out.

"So, what are you doing here?"

"Oh...I just came to get a few clothes and things..."

"Oh. Do you do this often?"

"Only if I think no one's home."

I looked at him for a few seconds. "You know, I could call the cops on you for entering someone else's home."

"Now, look here young lady. Just because I don't live here at the moment, does not mean that I am not your father. This house is still being paid for by my money!"

"Then, if you have money, why is it that you sleep in the furniture store? It's true isn't it?"

His face seemed to reflect surprise, but he quickly caught his mistake. "Apsh, no. I'm staying with a good friend of mine."

"A guy right?"

"Why do you keep questioning me? You sound just like your mother..."

"She did raise me."

"We raised you, Amy. We."

The words he just said sounded so familiar. We, ours. The words were so different, yet so much the same. As if for that one second, it was not my father's voice I heard, but Ricky's.

"Right..."

He slowly walked towards me, looking at me as if trying to dig deep into my thoughts. "Something wrong?"

"No. I'm just tired and bored. Nothing good to watch on TV."

"Your'e lying. I think I know my own daughter better than that."

"Yeah dad, you sure do. Like how you accused Ashley, because you thought I was a good girl..."

"Which you were, and still are."

"...when really I was the one who got pregnant."

The last word seemed to have brought him back to reality, and he remained silent—twiddling his fingers for a few seconds. An awkward silence seemed to fill the atmosphere. The distant ticking of the clock seemed to resonate through the whole room, as the sudden outburst of laughter echoed from the TV.

Soon he broke the silence, placing one hand on his forehead and another on his back. "Look, it wasn't your fault. It's that boy Ricky's..."

"Yeah, because you know, I just let Ricky force me to do it."

He moved his hands from their positions and placed them at his side. They were twitching. "Knowing that boy, I bet he did." He seemed to clench his fists as he glared into space. "You don't talk to him right?! Amy, I don't want you anywhere near that piece of sh—..."

"Don't worry, I don't talk to him, and I don't want to be near him."

He sighed in relief. "That's my girl."

He lightly sucker punched my arm; when suddenly the kitchen door swung open—only to reveal my very shocked mother, "George?!"

"Oh sh-...hi Anne." He placed a smile on his face, as he side stepped behind the counter, farther away from her.

My mother did not greet him back. Instead she stood there, with her mouth open and her eyes just staring at him. Soon shock transformed into anger, and the bags she held in her hand fell to the ground. The tension in the room seemed to escalate as if World War Three were to occur in my very own kitchen. Taking this as a cue, I quickly slipped out of the room and bolted upstairs.

Once in my room, I could hear the constant yells and chatter of my parents—and a very much involved Ashley—coming from the kitchen. Not only had my social life taken a nose dive, but my family life had also drastically crumbled. Even though I had grown accustomed to the past month and its drama, it still seemed strange to have a tear in our family.

Hoping to block out the sounds of the anger, I hastily picked up a random magazine and flipped through the pages. As I was skimming through a section of love advice, the vibration of my phone shook my body, and I hurriedly took it out of my back pocket. Staring at the screen, it was a number I didn't recognize.

In the seconds as I pondered whether to answer or not, the yelling below had escalated, and I decided any other noise was better than this. I answered the call.

"Hello?"

Silence on the other end.

"Helloooo?"

A shuffling on the other end could be heard, but it was faint.

"If this is some prank call..."

"No, don't worry. It isn't."

"You have got to be kidding me." I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Like I said, this isn't a prank call."

"Okay, cut the crap, Ricky. What do you want?! I told you to leave me alone?!"

"I want to talk."

"Like I said, stop talking big."

"And like I said, just let me prove it." He sounded desperate, but he was born actor. I wouldn't fall for his facade. Maybe Adrian was right.

"And like I've said time and time again. No."

"Amy, why the hell are you so stubborn?"

"And why the hell are you so persistent?!"

"I'm Ricky Underwood. I always get what I want."

"Yeah right. Well you know what Ricky..."

"What?!" I could hear the smugness being carried through from his end of the line to mine. I hated him.

Without a single reply, I hung up and shut my phone off. Why could he not just get the picture?! As I lay in bed, I realized that the noise downstairs had stopped. Creeping down the stairs, I could hear faint chatter coming from the kitchen. Staring at the couch in the living room I could make out Ashley's shadow in the dark. The smell of butter still wafted from the room.

Continuing forward, I could hear the conversation of my parents.

"What are they talking about?" Ashley whispered in my ear. I jumped back; surprised I didn't hear her footsteps behind me.

"I dunno..." I responded, in a hushed tone.

"Extending my neck a little more to hear the faint words, I caught a few bits and pieces.

"...no, I don't..."

"...but, you have to understand..."

"George, forget..."

"...sorry, but I..."

It was quite a difficult task, and soon I resorted to just giving up. Besides, it was my parent's personal business—even though it greatly affected me and Ashley. Plopping down on the couch, the both of us remained silent, just resting our heads on each other. I don't know how long it took, but as I opened my eyes the whole house was dark except for a single light shining from the kitchen. No voices were heard.

Dad was gone.

Tippy-toeing into the kitchen I peeked around the corner, only to find the sight of my mother crying into her hands. She tried hard to conceal her sobs, but every few seconds I could hear the raspy sound escape from her quivering lips. I had never seen my mother cry like that. I had seen so many sides of her—compassion, anger, happiness, anxiousness—but I had never seen pain.

I didn't know what to do, I froze in place, just staring at her body—watching her shudder with each tear. A lump in my throat was forming and I decided to head back upstairs to my room. Hiding beneath the covers, I fell victim to sleep—dreaming of clouds. Clouds and rain. I don't know why, but I just did. In my dream the blue sky that I felt surround me was suddenly blanketed by a black sheet, and thunder and lightning escaped from the saddened clouds. Evil cackles were carried by the wind, as I stood holding myself tightly, hoping for the storm to disappear.

Suddenly, I woke up. Staring at the clock beside me it read 1:10. Sneaking out into the hallway, the whole of downstairs remained dark. No sign of light or my mother anywhere. I sighed.

Walking back into my room, I saw my cell phone lying on the ground. I carefully picked it up.

Mom was alone. And dad was alone as well—off somewhere wishing to be a part of our family again. We were separated pieces of a puzzle that no longer fit together. We were so alone in our own little worlds, dealing with our own fears.

Mom was alone. She had pushed him out the door, pushing him further and further away each time, hoping to prove that she was strong, that she was alright. But no, even if she had me—Ashley and I—even if she had us, she was still alone. It surprised me that that was something I had been craving or expecting for the past few weeks, but maybe I didn't want to prove I was strong. Maybe I didn't want them to know I was weak.

Without a second thought I switched on my cell phone, and dialled a number. The seven numbers seemed like it took forever to press, but in the end, as I stared at the screen, I only hesitated a while before pressing 'Call'.

The phone rang three times, before someone picked up. I could hear him rubbing away the tiredness from his eyes, coughing away, in search of his voice. "H-hello?" he answered.

"Hey..."

"A-amy?" I could hear the shock in his voice, and as if picturing it on my own mind, I could see him bolt upright from his bed; searching for the switch of his bed side lamp.

"Yeah, it's me..."

"Wh—..."

"You want to talk right? You want to prove you actually care?" I kept the firm tone, hoping not to allow any emotions to seep into the conversation.

"Sure..."

"It's a 'yes' or 'no' answer."

"Yeah...I-I-I...yes."

" 'Kay. Look for me at school in the morning. I'll talk this time."

"Uh...yeah...ummm...hey are you okay?"

"Does it sound like I'm sad or something? I'm not lying to you. You said you wanted to be a part of this...so...I'm letting you."

"No, I mean I'm happy and all...but why the change of heart?"

"Just look for me at school." And with that I hung up on him, the second time tonight. I don't know if this was a mistake. Maybe in the morning I would wake up and realize I was secretly dreaming that whole conversation, that my decision in allowing him into this situation was all just one big dream.

But, when I woke up that morning to my alarm, I hastily opened up my phone to find his number in my 'Recently Called' folder. This was real, it was no dream. Suddenly regret washed over me. I was so stupid.

Reality hit even more, when upon reaching my locker at school, I found him standing there. Hands in his pockets, leaning against the wall, a smile forming across his lips. I stood in place for a while, just staring at him in his blue shirt—déjà vu hitting me all over again—only this time he wasn't brushing me off. And this time I wasn't pushing him away.

This time he was waiting, staying in place, hoping that I would come and let him in.

And maybe just once, even just for a second, I'd let him.