Chapter Two

39 0 0
                                    

 I've been waiting for my father, standing twelve inches away from me, to hang up the phone

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

His expression portrays a sense of fear for his life

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

His expression portrays a sense of fear for his life. He moved aside to speak with my grandfather by tapping his arm.

Granddad didn't understand why he needed to have a private conversation with his son. Not until Dad had talked with him. "Around ten in the morning, she must be at the Integral Psychotherapy."

Granddad paled like a ghost. "Are you serious?"

"Shh. I also hate this idea strongly, but the problem is—"

"Elora can't seem to speak with those folks by even looking them in the eye. She is afraid to notify a doctor about it."

"For this reason, I have to find out what's happening with her. Currently, she hasn't been herself.

My grandfather felt apprehensive and wanted to go sit down somewhere. He had no words to hint at news like this. "What do you mean?"

Dad let out a sigh. "Earlier, she had a nightmare about that man who beat her."

"Son--" His father took him in for an embrace, just like he had with me, and Dad began to cry a little. "It wasn't your fault."

At the same moment, they both pull away from the hug. Not too long afterward, I moved to stand between them.

"Dad, can we go?" I asked.

"Sure, sweetie." With that, Dad gathers the clothes we chose and heads to the cashier to pay.

We made our way to McDonald's to have lunch inside. My father told me to leave the headphones and Walkman in the car until they had finished eating. I obeyed and did what I was told to do. Music calms my nerves all the time when I'm anxious. I even had it going to school here in Minneapolis. I must admit that my inner self turns into a social butterfly if I'm with the fewest friends I've made during my eighth-grade year. I could have a vanilla milkshake with a cheeseburger and medium fries. As a child, I never had anything that good. Every time, my stomach would complain, and I would only get pieces of food. During the remainder of the day, I'll steal some fruit packets from the cupboard by breaking into the kitchen when no one is around.

Our Guardian Angel (BOOK TWO)✓Where stories live. Discover now