Cut by Layla Harding

last cigarette from my pack out the window and pointed my car towards home.

    “Persephone, I thought we had a discussion about you coming and going as you please. Didn’t we?” I couldn’t figure out if he was talking about the fact I wasn’t there the night before or if it was because I was walking in at nine at night. Either way, I didn’t care.
    I shrugged. “Yeah, I guess we did. Sorry about that.”
    “Sorry about that? Do you think that’s an acceptable response to the fact I came down to check on my daughter last night, and she was not in her bed? Do you know what that was like? To not have any idea where you were?”
    Yes, it must have been excruciating, I’m sure. All revved up and ready to play only to find your favorite toy missing. Absolutely tragic.
    I couldn’t explain what came over me at that moment. Natural instinct was to duck and cover, mumble through an apology and get as far away as fast as possible. But from somewhere inside, a person I didn’t know existed reared up and said, “Check on me? Really? Since when do you come down to check on me ? Does Mom know you were checking on me ?”
    I had never seen fear on his face before, and I don’t think it was exactly fear I saw this time. Shock, maybe? He looked like a child who had fallen, scraped his knee and was trying to decide if tears were the most proper, profitable response.
    “Listen, Persephone—”
    “Leave me alone.” With that, I hitched my backpack over my shoulder and walked down the stairs as my dad stood there, opening and closing his mouth like a guppy. Damn if it didn’t feel good.

9.
    Two nights later, I showed up at Ken’s front door again. At first, I wasn’t sure what brought me there. Dad was on a trip. Mom was passed out. There was no drama, nothing to run away from. When I put my key in the door, I realized what it was. Safety. Comfort. I had to know those feelings were still there—that they weren’t something I had imagined. I wanted something I could hold on to.
    Ken was sitting in his recliner as if he were waiting for me. When I walked in, he got up, nodded once, patted my head, and went to his own room. He didn’t ask for an explanation, and I didn’t offer one. He accepted me as a part of his home, his routine. That night I slept holding on to the key he had given me. There was an impression of it in my palm the next morning that didn’t fade completely until almost lunch.
    Over the next few weeks, I spent the night several more times and was there every other afternoon to read. James and I talked often, but he never broached the subject of Ken’s big secret again. I didn’t ask. Whatever it was, I didn’t want to know. I wanted everything to stay the same—safe and unshaken.
    Most mornings when I woke at Ken’s house, I would find a fresh cup of coffee waiting for me on the entry table. One morning, two weeks before the deadline, I found an application for federal student aid, obviously downloaded off a website. So you have a computer hidden around here, you little sneak. I was too amused to be angry. I filled it out the same night and stuck it in the mail. Ken never asked about it, but he did look a little Cheshire cat-ish over the next few days.
    We fell into a nice routine. It was comforting and stable. I knew Ken would always be there when I walked in the front door. James always answered when I called. Happy wasn’t exactly a word I was familiar with, but I thought this must have been pretty damn close.
    One particular morning, I was almost on the verge of admitting life might actually have some value—my life specifically. The sun was warming everything it touched, almost as if it was smiling down on the world. I had a cigarette hanging out the window and not a single fresh cut on my body. It was as close to perfect a day as possible. Stupid me actually thought it would last.
    There were pop quizzes in two of my classes I was woefully unprepared for, Maggie seemed cranky and off-kilter