All the Little Truths (English Prep 3)

Prologue

Several months ago

Eric

The second I pulled myself from sleep, I knew something was off. Call it intuition, or maybe it was something else entirely, but I knew something wasn’t right. My father’s Rover was in the driveway, but he wasn’t in the house. I continued to stare at my mom from their ajar bedroom door. She was curled up on her side as her chest rose and fell gracefully, a blanket draped over her body, with the sun barely making daybreak through the far window. My stomach clenched even tighter as I continued to stand there. I was fuming.

Fuck.

I’d already searched the house, high and low. My father was nowhere to be found. His phone was still laying on the bedside table, and the sheets were still crumpled on his side of the bed. I swallowed back a harsh growl as my knuckles almost popped from the grip I had on the door jamb.

I gave my mom one last look before I quickly jolted around and rushed down the steps.

I was finished with this shit.

My father was mistaken if he thought I was going to let this go. He was a cheating son of a bitch.

“It was a mistake. One your mother doesn’t need to know about.”

Yeah, fuck you, Dad.

Once you admit you’ve made a mistake, you usually stop making it.

Our front door flew open with my rage. My gaze skimmed over our driveway and the freshly cut green grass that stood between our house and the neighbor’s. I recognized both cars parked out front, which only increased my anger. My heart thumped like a ticking time bomb. My hands shook with fury as I stomped my way over the dewy yard in my bare feet. Who needed shoes at a time like this? Fuck shoes. Goosebumps clung to my bare chest. Who needed a shirt at a time like this? Fuck clothes.

I tried to take a steady breath to reel in my temper as I twisted the doorknob and pulled the door open. I was sure it was just my head fucking with me, but I swore I could smell the sex from where I was standing.

It had been forever since I’d stepped foot in this house. The smallest ache in my chest made itself known with forgotten memories—memories that I’d consistently pushed away for the last several years in order to stay sane. I shook my head as I rounded the steps and climbed them in sets of three. My eyes went directly to Madeline’s bedroom door, but I quickly skimmed past it, annoyed that her face was floating around my brain so early in the morning. I tilted my head, the strands of my dark hair flinging down in my eyes as I began to listen.

The sour taste of vomit caused a rough swallow to bob down my throat.

It took no more than three seconds to get to the door that held sounds of skin against skin and high-pitched whimpers behind it. But from the second I tore open the door, everything went into slow-motion.

My heart banged against my ribcage so hard it hurt. It was the only sound I could hear. With every thrust of my father’s bare fucking ass plowing into Madeline’s mom’s pussy, I felt my rage intensify to a scary high. I saw red. The entire room tinted to a hellish color as I barked out the words.

“Get. The. Fuck. Home.”

“Eric!” My father paused, still plunged inside Madeline’s mom. “What the hell? Get out of here!”