Read Online Teach Me To Live (Teach Me - Book One) by Alannah Carbonneau - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Alannah Carbonneau
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you’ll figure it out.”
“But not today?”
He shook his head. “No. Not today.”
I pulled up to the house at half past ten. The lights were all on, including the lights in the pool house. I knew my parent’s were worried, because I’d never left home in a rage to not return until dark. I could only imagine the fight I had waiting for me within the walls I called home.
These walls had always been my home.
They’d always felt like home.
Until now . . .
I avoided the front door of the main house, walking like the coward I was around the side, to where the pool house sat, in all its glory. I was praying, hoping, and wishing, that no one was waiting for me within the walls I had been praying I could consider a sanctuary of sorts, when I’d been given the go-ahead to move in.
“Where have you been?” Mom’s voice sounded in the darkness and I startled as my eyes searched the night. It didn’t take me long to locate Mom sitting in one of the poolside chairs. She’d been waiting for me in the shadows. Like a crazy person.
“Mom!” I gasped, plopping my open hand against my chest. My heart raced hard and quick beneath my palm. “What are you doing sitting in the dark?”
“Where have you been, Madison?” She asked again. I watched as she rose from where she sat to close the distance between us.
“I was out.”
“Where?”
“At the coffee house.”
“Your car was at the coffee house,” she shook her head. “But you weren’t. So, I am going to ask you one last time. Where were you?”
“I was with a friend.” I could hear the nerves climbing up from my stomach, into my throat to taint the sound of my words. I’d never been particularly good at confrontation.
“What friend?”
“You don’t know him.”
“Him?” She pursed her lips. “You were out until half past ten with a boy?”
I cursed myself for not thinking quicker on my feet. The last thing I should have admitted was that I had been out until dark with a boy. Surely, she was moments away from losing her very mind.
There wasn’t much in the way of an extraction now, so I nodded. Admitting truth once again was really all I could do. Although I had become quite the liar over the years, I wasn’t much for storytelling when it came to Mom and Dad. I know you probably don’t see much of a difference between lying and storytelling, so I’ll explain it for you. Lying is the blatant opposite of truth. Storytelling is an elaboration or twisting of events or truths to turn them into one’s favor. Storytelling is a brand of complex lying I’d never bothered to master. Hiding who I was from my parent’s was one thing. Blatantly lying to my Mother to protect myself, was another. So, being that the only thing I seemed capable of lying about was my emotions, again, I nodded. But this time there was a verbal admission that went with it. “I was.”
“Madison,” she shook her head disappointedly before gesturing to the pool house door. “We’ll finish this conversation inside.”
“You mean I still have a place to sleep?” I snapped, remembering Dad’s harsh words.
“Don’t demand to be treated as an adult, Madison, and proceed to act like a child.” Mom bit back just as pointedly.
Swallowing my retort, I turned on my heel to walk into the pool house. The lights were on, and I knew I hadn’t left them on. So I knew my Mom, and or, Dad had been snooping. “You were in here?”
“You left me little choice but to snoop through your space when you neglected to answer your cell phone.”
Crap. I hadn’t even thought about my phone. “I didn’t even notice you called.”
“I don’t believe you.”
There was a big part of me that wanted to tell her I’d been too distracted by tattoos and piercings and motorbikes to notice her name flashing on the screen of my phone. The words were bubbling in my throat, begging for release. They burned like acid and were just as annihilating. Yet, if I spoke those
“But not today?”
He shook his head. “No. Not today.”
I pulled up to the house at half past ten. The lights were all on, including the lights in the pool house. I knew my parent’s were worried, because I’d never left home in a rage to not return until dark. I could only imagine the fight I had waiting for me within the walls I called home.
These walls had always been my home.
They’d always felt like home.
Until now . . .
I avoided the front door of the main house, walking like the coward I was around the side, to where the pool house sat, in all its glory. I was praying, hoping, and wishing, that no one was waiting for me within the walls I had been praying I could consider a sanctuary of sorts, when I’d been given the go-ahead to move in.
“Where have you been?” Mom’s voice sounded in the darkness and I startled as my eyes searched the night. It didn’t take me long to locate Mom sitting in one of the poolside chairs. She’d been waiting for me in the shadows. Like a crazy person.
“Mom!” I gasped, plopping my open hand against my chest. My heart raced hard and quick beneath my palm. “What are you doing sitting in the dark?”
“Where have you been, Madison?” She asked again. I watched as she rose from where she sat to close the distance between us.
“I was out.”
“Where?”
“At the coffee house.”
“Your car was at the coffee house,” she shook her head. “But you weren’t. So, I am going to ask you one last time. Where were you?”
“I was with a friend.” I could hear the nerves climbing up from my stomach, into my throat to taint the sound of my words. I’d never been particularly good at confrontation.
“What friend?”
“You don’t know him.”
“Him?” She pursed her lips. “You were out until half past ten with a boy?”
I cursed myself for not thinking quicker on my feet. The last thing I should have admitted was that I had been out until dark with a boy. Surely, she was moments away from losing her very mind.
There wasn’t much in the way of an extraction now, so I nodded. Admitting truth once again was really all I could do. Although I had become quite the liar over the years, I wasn’t much for storytelling when it came to Mom and Dad. I know you probably don’t see much of a difference between lying and storytelling, so I’ll explain it for you. Lying is the blatant opposite of truth. Storytelling is an elaboration or twisting of events or truths to turn them into one’s favor. Storytelling is a brand of complex lying I’d never bothered to master. Hiding who I was from my parent’s was one thing. Blatantly lying to my Mother to protect myself, was another. So, being that the only thing I seemed capable of lying about was my emotions, again, I nodded. But this time there was a verbal admission that went with it. “I was.”
“Madison,” she shook her head disappointedly before gesturing to the pool house door. “We’ll finish this conversation inside.”
“You mean I still have a place to sleep?” I snapped, remembering Dad’s harsh words.
“Don’t demand to be treated as an adult, Madison, and proceed to act like a child.” Mom bit back just as pointedly.
Swallowing my retort, I turned on my heel to walk into the pool house. The lights were on, and I knew I hadn’t left them on. So I knew my Mom, and or, Dad had been snooping. “You were in here?”
“You left me little choice but to snoop through your space when you neglected to answer your cell phone.”
Crap. I hadn’t even thought about my phone. “I didn’t even notice you called.”
“I don’t believe you.”
There was a big part of me that wanted to tell her I’d been too distracted by tattoos and piercings and motorbikes to notice her name flashing on the screen of my phone. The words were bubbling in my throat, begging for release. They burned like acid and were just as annihilating. Yet, if I spoke those
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