Unplanned

1

ANXIOUS DID NOT BEGIN TO describe the way Karissa Jones felt. Sitting on her bed, she chewed her bottom lip until it was raw. Petrified with indecision, she was plagued by a single nagging question.

Do I stay or do I go?

On the surface, it seemed like a simple enough question. But there were so many factors to consider. So much could go wrong if she went. On the other hand, there was one very important reason to go, which was quite possibly more important than all the potentially unfortunate fallout that could come from choosing to go.

Sighing, Karissa began to pace the room, thinking that maybe she would have an easier time coming to a decision if she was moving instead of sitting still. It became apparent very quickly that being idle was not her issue, and so she sat back down and resumed torturing her poor bottom lip with her nervous habit.

She felt so stupid.

It wasn’t such a hard decision to make, and yet she still found herself struggling to choose. Already, she must have weighed the pros and cons in her head at least fifty times, but she felt no closer to that elusive decision.

Just then, Karissa’s thoughts were interrupted when she heard shouting coming from downstairs. Nothing that she wasn’t used to.

Sounds like Mommy and Daddy are at it again, she thought, rolling her eyes.

Honestly, Karissa couldn’t care less what her parents were arguing about this time. It was rarely anything important. They would fight over the most trivial things so often that Karissa was convinced that they had to enjoy it to at least some degree.

Sometimes—when there was nothing to argue about—her father just felt like he needed to take out his pent-up frustrations on someone. More often than not, there was some heavy drinking involved as well.

Karissa was just glad that his anger was directed towards her mother tonight.

Better her than me.

Her father was a lot more merciful with her mother than he was with Karissa, and she had the scars to prove it.

Doing her best to tune out the fiery squabble going on downstairs, Karissa reached underneath her pillow and extracted a spiral bound notebook with so many scribbles and sketches on the cover that anyone who saw it would have a hard time determining where one began and the other ended. But Karissa knew.

It was her work after all, and she remembered every time that she took a pen to the cover.

Karissa opened the notebook and flipped through the first few pages. It was a scrapbook that she’d been putting together over the last three months by printing out pictures from social media sites.

The person in all the pictures brought a smile to her face, as he always did. She so desperately wanted to meet him from the moment that she first laid eyes on him. He didn’t even know that she existed, but tonight was her chance to change that. She knew exactly where he was going to be.

For a moment, Karissa imagined herself walking right up to him, stealing the breath from his lungs and filling him with a deep desire to kiss her right there on the spot. The same scene had played out so many times in her head, she could picture it vividly.

But what if he rejects me?

The thought killed her enthusiasm and left her once again gripped by indecision. She had such a huge crush on him that she would be mortified if he turned her down. The mere thought of it happening terrified her.

But if she chose to stay, she would never know what might happen. She could continue to admire him from afar, though, and there was no danger of getting hurt.

But was that good enough?

Suddenly, Karissa heard loud banging downstairs. The argument was ramping up, which put more pressure on her to make a decision fast. If she didn’t go now, she may never get a chance. If her father came up here, there would be no going anywhere, and she would have to explain why she was dressed the way she was—in a short, low-cut red dress. The sole purpose to grab attention. Namely the attention of one particular guy.

But her father would not be pleased to see her dressed this way. And when he was so good at coming up with reasons to be angry with her all on his own, there was no need to supply him with any extra ammunition.

Karissa returned the scrapbook it to its hiding place. Chewing her lip again, she smoothed out the folds in her dress and glanced at her bedroom door. Shut tight but far from secure. Her parents were only a staircase and a short hall away.

Stop procrastinating already and just make a decision, she chastised herself. What are you waiting for?

Karissa could hardly believe she was putting the decision off when she had been planning this for nearly two weeks now. But now that the time had finally arrived, her level of confidence was at an all-time low. Doubts kept creeping into her mind, leaving her more and more uncertain.

So she stood again and resumed pacing, still treating her bottom lip like a chew toy.

Karissa had barely been pacing for more than a minute or two before her ears picked up on the sound of glass shattering downstairs. Followed by more shouting at an even higher volume. It was never a good sign when things started breaking.

Usually, these little spats between her parents ended in her mother locking herself in her bedroom and her father drinking himself to sleep on the couch. Those were the good nights.

The bad nights were much worse.

Tuning out all the shouting was practically an almost impossible task.

Shut up already. She chewed her lips more feverishly and covered her ears. Just shut up.

Then—as if her parents could hear her thoughts—the shouting match came to an abrupt end. Karissa exhaled deeply and plopped down on the bed again, glad it was all over.

Or so she thought.

The sound of feet stomping up the stairs filled her ears. Her stomach twisted into a nervous knot. There was no way of knowing whether it was her father or her mother. Not like it really mattered. She didn’t want either one to discover her like this.

She scurried to the door, locking it. Then she took a step back, her heart pounding against her ribcage as if it could sense the tension and wanted to escape.

Her eyes locked on to the doorknob as the sound of heavy footsteps in the hall reverberated in her ears.

Don’t try to come in. Don’t try to come in. Don’t try to come—

The knob began to jiggle, quickly followed by a relentless pounding.

Karissa, open the door. Her father’s words were slurred. He was wasted.

Just like that, Karissa’s decision was made for her. No matter what the fallout of her decision might be, she wasn’t about to stick around here and face her father in one of his drunken rages. Past experience told her that nothing good could come from that.

Karissa grabbed a sweater from off the bed as well as her car keys from the nightstand. Then she rushed over to the window and pushed it open before she started to climb out on to the roof. She was halfway out the window when it dawned on her that she was barefoot—the heels she intended to wear still on the floor by her closet.

Open the damn door, her father bellowed. He pounded so hard on the door that Karissa worried he might break it right off its hinges.

A frightening scenario that was not out of the realm of possibility.

While Karissa was tempted to just continue on her way, she needed those shoes. She refused to leave without them.

Like a small critter scurrying out of its burrow for food, she rushed across the room and snatched up her shoes. Then she beat a hasty retreat back to the window, slipping out on to the roof.

She spared one last look at her door before shutting the window. She could still hear her father shouting even with the window closed. There would be hell to pay when she returned, but it would be worth it.

She scooted across the roof, taking care not to let her dress get caught on anything and rip. A large oak grew beside the house, one gnarled branch hanging right over the roof. Her dad had been meaning to cut the branch back for years now—another chore that he never seemed to get around to. Karissa was glad he didn’t, because it made this whole escape plan possible. She grabbed hold of the branch and began to shimmy out to the trunk so she could make her way down to the ground below.

I’m on my way. Excitement welled up inside her like a balloon filling with air. Ready to pop. I’m on my way to see you . . . Zachary.

***

Loud music and laughter filled Zachary Miller’s ears as he watched everyone around him enjoying themselves. It was beyond frustrating to see them all having such a great time when he was as miserable as he could ever remember being in his entire life. None of them had any idea what he was going through.

Not one of them.

He sat on the couch in a crowded living room. He might as well be invisible with how little attention everyone paid him. At one point, some girl even sat on his lap before realizing he was there. She laughed it off and even made a not-so-subtle pass at him, but he promptly rejected her advances. The girl was too drunk for Zachary—or maybe he wasn’t drunk enough. Regardless, she quickly decided that he wasn’t going to be any fun and moved on to find someone else to dance with.

Even after his third beer, Zachary still didn’t feel any closer to washing away the thoughts that continued to plague him. All that happened was his vision got a little blurry and he had less tolerance for the people around him.

Why am I even here?

That was the fifth time that thought popped into his head. He still could not come up with an answer.

While nursing his fourth beer, Zachary picked up a familiar chuckle in the cocktail of laughter and other sounds that bombarded his ears. He sat up and looked around, spotting Jayson Mitchell approaching the coach. A giggling blonde who was like a parent’s worst nightmare attached to his arm like a welcome parasite.

While both Zachary and Jayson were tall and lean, the similarities stopped there. If they were boxers, they would never be in the same weight class. Jayson had Zachary by probably fifty pounds at least. His skin was many shades darker than Zachary’s, and his shaved head was hidden beneath a baseball cap.

Hey, man, what’s with that face? Jayson plopped down beside Zachary. You look like you should be in one of those ads for antidepressants.

I feel like it too.

I brought you here to so that you can forget everything and just have a good time, remember?

Zachary did remember. It didn’t work.

How many beers have you had?

Zachary held up four fingers.

And you still look like that? Damn, you need something stronger. Come with me. I stashed away a bottle of rum in my room. I was saving it, but I think you need it more than I do.

Zachary shook his head, having already ruled out alcohol as a cure for his woes. I think I should just leave.

No way. I told you I was going to make sure you have a good time and I meant it. You just need to mingle or something. You want me to introduce you to a girl?

Zachary shook his head again. He doubted girls were the cure he was looking for either. If such a cure even existed.

Are you sure?

He nodded.

Well at least go hang out with Mikayla then. She’d hate me for telling you this, but she has a massive crush on you.

He already knew. He wasn’t interested.

Don’t worry about me, Zachary said. It’s your party so just go have a good time.

You know I can’t do that when I know you’re like this. The blonde was kissing Jayson’s neck now. She looked like she was rearing to go right now, and it was making it very difficult for Jayson to give Zachary his undivided attention. Just try, alright? I know you’ll feel better if you do.

Zachary looked down at the beer in his hand as if there was something interesting about the alcoholic beverage. "I don’t think I can do that. I mean, it’s not like things were great,