Even though my dad didn't really do anything and we weren't all that close in a weird sense I trusted him a lot more than my mom; maybe that's because he was the quietest person I know. They say the quiet ones are always the ones to crack first. And its true. If someone you know is quiet you don't want to make them angry. You never know what could or couldn't happen.
The quiet night air was nice though cold. After awhile my running slowed down to a walk. The snow, along with my speed, had slowed. The cold, quietness was beautiful. My only wish was that I had somewhere warm and comforting to come home to; someone to really take care of me. In the back of my mind I knew I always had my dad, with all his various flaws. This was going to be a long night I could already tell. It was eerily quiet.
Every night when I went to sleep my room always smelled like lavender, the perfect bedtime scent. But it still wasn't enough. I don't know when it would be if ever.