Chapter 4

"Who else would it be?" I call back with a edge to my voice and put my force into my washing, demanding that the chunks of food be removed from the plate. It doesn't. And I soon become frustrated. "Do you mind maybe occasionally washing your dishes, as well? Or are you so incompetent that you possibly can't?"

Most would be shocked at the way I speak to my Father. He deserves it. I practically had to raise myself, clean, cook, just to keep going. That was his job as a parent to do that for me. But he hasn't. He's never done anything.

I angrily toss the plate back into the sink and turn off the water. I'm in mood to be doing this. I dry my hands before I grab my bags and storm through the living room, catching sight of my Father. I frown at him at first.

He looks.. So weak. And well, miserable. I take in his hair black hair that now touches his ears, his dull gray eyes, and his pale, dry, skin. I almost can't believe this is him. He's changed so much. No longer does he wear a smile on his face, no longer does his skin glow a healthy golden tone. Now he's a ghost of what he use to be. A ghost of the father I wish he could be.

"I've been busy today," He counters. I scoff and gesture to the empty beer bottle and flickering tube that broadcasts the weather.

"Doing what? Wasting your life?" A sadistic laugh slips my lips, "You do realize how wrong this is, don't you? How wrong-"

"I don't need you to remind me, Ronnie. Just go to your room." He commands and stares at the TV.

I shake my head at him and grip at the strap of my bag, "Pathetic," I mutter before I go to my room and close the door behind me.

I remove my hoodie and toss it onto my small bed. I collapse in my office chair and convince myself to not go charging back into that room. To not scream till my voice gives out. No matter how much I scream, nothing will ever get through that thick skull of his.

Another reason I think I'm so angry with him is because I'm so much like him. I always was. We're both stubborn, thick headed, and just.. Shut off when it comes to emotions. We never talk about what's wrong with us. Or what's going on with us, really.

I do what I usually do when I no longer wish to think about something that bugs me. I occupy my mind, with painting. I take my mind off everything and just focus on the strokes of my brush and the picture that appears on the paper. It relaxes me for a while till night falls, reminding me of the fact I have to be at the bonfire. I contemplate ditching it. I think, what did Adam want to tell me?

It makes me stop what I'm doing and toss the dirty paint brushes into the glass of water. I wash off any paint on me and put on a clean white spaghetti strap with my black jeans and my combat boots. I style my long hair into a braid before I take a glance of myself in the mirror.

At least I look decent, I think as I chew on my lip. It's not like I really care what I look like. I don't really have much of a fashion sense. My wardrobe consist of jeans, T-shirts, and combat boots. I don't wear a lot of makeup. I don't even wear jewelry. Well, except for a leather bracelet but that shouldn't be considered jewelry. Isn't jewelry supposed to be feminine? Then again, who cares?

I don't marvel in my "beauty" for too long. I exit my room and find my Father in the same place that I left him. "Are you going to the bonfire?"

He shrugs, "Maybe. If I'm in the mood. I think the one they really need is you there."

The one they really need there? Is there something going on that I don't know about? Clearly. I sigh, "Is there something going on that I don't know about?" I ask, echoing my thoughts.

Again, he shrugs. "Go find out for yourself."

"Thanks," I drawl sarcastically. "For the help." I'm already out of the house before he can respond. Not that I expect him to.

I catch sight of everybody huddled around a glowing fire. The only source of light right now. I make my way over slowly, almost hesitantly.

Everybody's laughing and talking away. Even the Alpha who sports a unfamiliar smile on his face. He jokes, telling stories. Is this what pack meetings are like? Fun?

Some people are roasting marshmallows as well. Well, this isn't that bad. I think and I let my eyes roam over everybody's face, recognizing old friends and foes.

My eyes land and ulimately stop on Adam, who sits next to his father, oddly staring into the fire. I can see him playing with his fingers. He's nervous. But for what?

"Ron, is it?"

My head snaps to my side to see Adam's mom, Alpha Female Beckett. I haven't seen her since.. Well, since I was twelve years old. She rarely makes a appearance and insists on shopping almost constantly.

I remind myself to answer before she thinks I'm ignoring her. "Ronnie." I correct. "Ronnie Mars."

"Oh, of course! My bad!" She laughs, although I don't understand what's so funny. "How have you been, sweetie? You look so.. Different." Her eyes rake over my body. She frowns, obviously because of what I'm wearing.

"That's what growing up does to you." I rub at the back of my neck and focus my eyes on anything but her.