"We need to go." Brennan spoke loudly and urgently from the passenger seat before he leaned forward and addressed us "We will see you at the beach tomorrow."

Lana swivelled on her foot and nodded in their direction, answering for the both of us.

Both Lana and I walked up the drive towards her house and we did not once look back at the black truck that was probably long gone.

"You just had to pick the secret agent to go out with." I joked to her.

She slapped my head playfully as we headed inside.

After I said a quick hello to Lana's parents and stole some of their food, I left the house and made my way on foot along the dark street.

The walk left me alone with my thoughts.

I was still suspicious about their whereabouts, especially after their lame excuses. I chose to believe that whatever they were doing was important.

My front door was slightly ajar when I climbed the one flight of stairs and approached my apartment.

The open door meant only one thing. The awful feeling of dread knotted in my stomach as pushed open the door further.

"Dad?" I called into the dimly lit apartment.

I walked into the living room and found my father on the sofa with a beer bottle in hand.

The television was not on, and he was not on his phone. He just stared into the dark as he chugged down the alcohol.

I spoke again "Dad?"

He did not look at me, but he did scoff a question in acknowledgement "Where have you been?"

"I could ask you the same thing." I replied and I tried to keep my voice void of emotion so that I would seem stronger "Where have you been for the past month?"

"That is not your concern, Drizella."

I winced at the use of my name.

He never called me Drizella. My name was very much my mother's idea and he used to find it funny how much I hated it.

"How is that not my concern?" I questioned him, my voice rising so loud that it hurt my throat "I’m your daughter and you are never here."

My dad's laugh was cruel "You are eighteen. You don't need anyone."

I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs.

I raised a hand to my throat and restrained myself from telling him how much I did need someone.

My father never drank a lot when my mother was alive. He only drank on special occasions. Which differed greatly from now where his diet only consisted of alcohol.

I asked him every time I saw him about his whereabouts, but I was not entirely sure I wanted to know.

"Maybe you do need someone." He let out a humourless laugh as his eyes finally addressed "You are left to your own devices and now look at your hair."