I let out a quiet sniffle, gasping for another breath. I felt my arms hold my legs tighter at the sound of yelling downstairs - knowing it was my fault. Or at least, it was going to be my fault. Dad was pissed at me again. I could tell by the look on his face when I'd walked through the door, so I'd resorted to waiting it out in my room. But, mom had gotten involved - trying to scold dad. "It's not his fault, Frank." She'd said.

I didn't understand what she was on about. What had happened? I'd only been to the arcade today. I was a little rough with my bike, but that was it.

I pressed my lips together and squeezed my eyes shut - using the coarse fabric of the pale green hoodie I was wearing to wipe my cheeks. I let out a spluttered cough, only burying my face into the oversized sleeves as I began to cry harder. Why did I still have his hoodie? We didn't hang out anymore, he'd practically gone silent and he hadn't shown up after he tried visiting once, after he realised I'd been homsechooled.

I would ask myself if I'd been too harsh on him, when I'd brushed off the bruise on my cheek as a fight at school - trying to get him to drop the subject by telling him that if he was actually interested in being friends still, then he would've known about it. Of course, there was no fight, and I felt horrible for lying - but he had been distancing himself. He barely paid any attention to anyone at school. He didn't even notice when I'd stopped sitting with him - instead eating lunch in empty classrooms or hallways - sometimes even the library.

A small whine came from the dog sat beside my bed, causing me to look up and hesitantly reach out to pet his head. "I'm okay, Bernie." I mumbled, taking in a quick, deep breath and slowly exhaling. I sniffled quietly, letting the alsatian rest his front paws against my mattress - pushing himself onto the bed. He immediately rested his head on my lap, looking up at me with glossy eyes - like he wanted to cry.

At that, I gently began to scratch behind his triangular, black ears. He slowly blinked, his thick tail slowly wagging, hitting against the blue patchy blanket. "You don't need to do cuddles, it's okay." I mumbled, quietly - my breathing slowly evening out.

Bernard hadn't actually completed his service training - so, he wasn't technically a police dog. They said he was "too excitable" and that he never stayed on task. Though, I thought he was pretty neat.

I knew they'd been wrong about Bernard  - I mean, maybe he was a bit excitable, but he did stay on task. Whenever I'd cry, he seemed to try and snuggle up to me - despite the more violent tics I'd experience. They always got worse when I'd break down, but that didn't seem to bother Bernard. I just think they pushed him into the wrong field.

Carefully, I continued to pet the dog - mainly just softly ruffling the top of his head, watching his big, brown eyes look up to me as he let out another whine. I let out a sigh, "I know. I know." I mumbled quietly. Though, I retracted my hand from Bernard as his head had snapped towards the white door in my room. The sound of footsteps started to become audible - getting louder. They were heavy, so not mom, and they were heading up the stairs. It was either dad or Lyra - and Lyra was at her friend's house.

Bernard stood up, ears perked and tail still. Definitely dad. He jumped off of my bed, instead trotting up to my door, looking up expectantly. The door swung open, causing Bernard to jump up at dad - his front paws pushing against his legs as dad tried to redirect him downstairs. I can kinda see why he didn't get to be a police dog. Bernard let out a small bark, before scrambling out of my room and probably down the stairs.

I looked up to my dad, pushing the blanket off of me as I slumped slightly in my position. I didn't know what was going on, that was the worst part. "Dad - I don't know what I did wrong, just-"

"You're in big trouble." He cut me off - glaring at me as he raised a finger. "You just couldn't follow a simple instruction, could you?"

I felt the anxiety bubbling up inside of me finally begin to spill - my vision blurred as tears began to fill my eyes again. "I don't know what you're on about!" I exclaimed, throwing my arms out in front of me - an anxious smile forcing itself onto my expression.

Dad only took a step closer, glaring - which caused me to stop talking. "Stop. I told you not to do something because I knew it was bad for you and you carried on anyways. This is the consequences that have been building up." He stated, sternly.

Was this about the arcade? I thought mom had convinced him that video games didn't ruin your eyes. No, no, I knew what this was about. "Dad, the manager said it was okay! I only punched the claw machine once! You know those things are rigged! H-He said that I didn't damage anything so it was okay!" I rambled, more tears beginning to run down my face - hesitantly wiping them away with the hoodie sleeves. "I didn't get the prize, anyways."

I watched my dad's expression contort into one of both annoyance and confusion. His head tilted to the side as his eyebrows furrowed - his mouth agape like he wanted to say something but didn't know what. His eyes narrowed, finally finding his words as they landed on me. "I'm sorry, you did what?" He asked, "We'll talk about that later - because you're really just racking up your charges, aren't you?"

I felt my eyebrows furrow in confusion - my eyes squinting at him as I my tears seemed to slow down. "What charges? Dad, I didn't do anything wrong." I mumbled - my fear fading into confusion.

"Well, the fucking guy in charge of that laboratory down town reported a break in. I looked at the footage myself and the fucker that did it looks just like you!" He exclaimed, "I told you not to hang around that fucking boy, Toby - but no, you didn't listen and now look at you - you're a criminal."

I'm sorry - I did what? Why would I want to break into a laboratory? "Dad, I was at the arcade all day!" I pleaded, desperately trying to get him to understand that I didn't do it.

I watched his face contort with anger. "The footage I saw says differently! You know that lab has fucking bio safety levels of three and four, right? You realise how much fucking danger you could've put people in if you'd fucked that up, right?" He snapped, walking over to me and grabbing my arm.

I shook my head, scrambling to my feet as he dragged me off of my bed - knowing that pulling away would only blow the situation up more. It was better to just let him take me to wherever he was trying to. "I don't even know what that means, dad-" I mumbled, a desperate tone to my voice, "-please-"

He continued to lead me out of my room, "You broke into a fucking research laboratory, broke a couple of windows and spray painted the wall. To top it all off, do you know who fucking owns that place? Do you?" The man ranted, practically dragging me down the stairs - glancing back to me, "Well?!"

"N-No-" I stammered, still confused and overwhelmed. I was trying to process too much at once - I felt like I was tip-toeing on already smashed eggshells, but even then I was somehow still breaking them even more.

"Richard fucking Andrews. One of the richest men in fucking Colorado." My dad spat, pulling my arm forward when he'd gotten off the stairs - causing me to stumble off of the last one, though I managed to catch myself as I'd grabbed the wall to avoid falling over.

Andrews? That's Cody's last name - was, was that his adoptive father?

"You've already nearly gotten me demoted with your stupid fucking antics, I used to be seen as a good detective. Lost a big case, now I'm just a detective, hanging on a thread to that title - you want me to lose that title completely?!"

The graffiti too - did Cody do this? It'd make sense, I mean - he hated his dad - did he do this?

"And you can't use the excuse of being at the arcade, because the arcade closes at eight. You got home at half ten. Richard called us over when the suspect left. The distance from home to the arcade is twenty minutes, not two and a half hours - where were you? - Sorry, you were at A.R.A.D, stupid question, right?"

"Dad - listen, please!" I exclaimed, starting to gently pull against his grip as he dragged me into the kitchen - my feet almost slipping against the tiled floor due to how much wear the soles of my converse had. How did I tell him that I came home late because I didn't want to come home?

Mom turned around from the sink, her green eyes meeting mine before flicking over to her husband in a soft glare. "Frank! Let go of him!" She grumbled - though her voice still soft, beginning to walk over - I felt a slight pang of hope in my chest as my posture straightened.

"No, Constance, he needs to see that his actions have consequences." He snapped, his eyes narrowing as he glared at her. His head turned to the table, picking up a poor quality photo - probably taken from a security camera.

Mom only put her hands on her hips - her thin, black eyebrows furrowing together as her glare hardened. Though it was only by a little bit. "No, Franklin - I could hear him tell you to listen. He has something to say." She scolded.

I looked over to my mom, offering her a weak, teary smile. Though, I looked to my dad before my eyes trailed to the photograph. I felt his grip loosen on my arm as I reached out to the paper. "That isn't me." I mumbled - looking at the figure climbing over the fence. That was my hoodie, but that wasn't me. They were too slim - I did have a bit more muscle. Plus, that wasn't my rucksack. I didn't have pins on mine.

"Well?" My dad stated, as if asking me to elaborate - give proof.

"I don't have that hoodie anymore. I gave it away." I explained, looking up to him with a more hopeful expression, "A-And they look less athletic, maybe a bit taller. Plus, my bag is a dark blue - not black, and dark blue wouldn't show up as black on a grey scale image! Plus, look at those pins - I don't have pins on my bag!" I rambled, glancing in between my parents.

My dad stayed quiet, but my mom decided to speak up. She gently reached out to him, placing a hand on his arm - a softer expression on her features. "See, Frank? He didn't do it." She mumbled, though sighed when dad pulled away.

He looked to me with a stern look. "Which one did you give that hoodie to? The girl or the boy?" He asked sternly.

"I-I," I began, feeling myself pause. I gave that hoodie to Cody. It was the grey one - with the blue hood and striped sleeves. I knew who did I, so why didn't I just say it? Why did I want to defend him? He'd been nothing but a shit friend lately. I looked at my feet, "It was Cody - I can prove it was him as well." I mumbled.

I glanced up to see my dad giving me an expecting look - as if he was awaiting for me to give my proof. Though, my mom was only offering me a worried, saddened expression. I feel like she knew how I felt towards Cody - I mean, she knew about my feelings towards Bronwyn. My eyes flickered back to my father, as I shrugged slightly. "I - well, you said that the crime had only just happened? The suspect had fled? I can try and catch up to Cody before he gets home."

My mom shook her head, her short, wavy hair moving with her movement. "Toby, no, it's too dark. I don't want you to get hurt." She stated - this was her being stern. Telling me no, instead of trying reason with me.

"But if I leave with just my bike and I come back with the hoodie, then surely that will be proof!" I argued, desperately. I looked to my dad - knowing he would be more likely to allow me to pull this stunt. I mean, he was clearly sober, just pissed off. He was more reasonable when he was sober.

"Come back with that hoodie."

I nodded, looking from my dad to my mom, who only gave me an uncomfortable expression - most likely a mix of fear (for my safety) and also annoyance at my dad bypassing what she'd said.

With hesitance, I nodded - quickly putting the photograph down and backing away.

"Toby!" My mom scolded, worry laced into her words.

"Let him go, Connie."

Bernard jumped up at me as I rushed to the front door - barking as I rattled the chain. I opened the door, slipping out and closing it behind me with a thud. I quickly ran over to my bike, picking up the black vechile, and pushing it off of the lawn - hopping onto the saddle - wiping my eyes once more.