Words Your Father Never Told You. Part 8.

I didn’t open my window for the stranger, but I flicked on my light, in order to keep him standing in the same place until I could make my way downstairs and sneak out the back door. Quickly, I slipped on my black and silver flip flops, and pulled a light gray sweater over my head. My hair, now pulled up into a messy bun, was embarrassingly filthy.
The sliding door opened with a squeal, which I had been trying to avoid, considering it was almost midnight, and my mother was probably fast asleep.
It was oddly cold outside, at least for this time of year. Early summers in Michigan were always slightly mild, but never this chilled. “Hello?” I stared into the dark yard and squinted hard in order to make out any figures that might have been standing in the yard.
Sticks began to break, and the stiff lawn began to crunch, “Hey Castel.”
I stepped back in shock, my full name. I hadn’t heard it in forever.
“Castel, I know that’s you, so don’t try to runaway.”
Who was this stranger, how did they know me, and my full name? I never told anyone my full name if I had just met them, so I must have known this stranger well. Would that still make him a stranger?
“Castel, you came all the way down here.” He laughed behind his dark shadow. “You might as well talk to me.”
I debated turning away and running for the door, but instead I cleared my throat and in a soft voice asked, “Who are you?” The question was innocent enough.
“You can’t be serious.” Anger grew in his voice.
“I am,” I stiffened in defense, “very.”
“You’re kidding right.”
I stood still, waiting for him to revel himself to me. Instead, he walked towards me, and to my right, leaving the backyard by hopping over our sliver chain link fence.
“What the fuck?” I screeched in his ongoing direction, and immediately began to follow him. As I hopped over the linked fence, two strong hands reached out and grabbed my sides. “Thanks.” I muttered.
“I’m just glad you figured out that I wanted you to follow.” He laughed, soft and deep.
I nodded and pulled up my sinking sweatpants, “You never told me your…”
“I’m Darik, by the way.” A sigh came out of him, and I could see his stance tense up and then relax.
“Oh, well, thanks.” Guilt fell over me, Darik seemed nice enough.
“Don’t feel bad,” it’s like he knew what I was thinking, “you were pretty wasted when we met the other night.”
Before I could respond, he grabbed my hand and dragged me to the street, opened the passenger door to a slightly new, black, Charger, and threw me in.
Here goes nothing, I told myself. And as he turned the key in the ignition, I held my breath and held on for an interesting ride.
“Relax.” He cackled, and gently pushed his foot down on the gas pedal.