The morning sun filtered through the curtains of Smith Davis's room, casting a golden hue over the cluttered space. Smith groaned as he blinked awake, his eyes struggling to adjust to the light. He reached for the table clock, its numbers slowly registering in his groggy mind. **8:45 AM.**
"Sh**t!" Smith cursed, springing out of bed and nearly tripping over the mess of clothes on the floor. He rushed into the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, but the shock of it did little to quell the sinking feeling in his gut. He had planned to catch his father, Dr. John Davis, before heading to school. But as the silence of the house pressed in around him, he knew—his father hadn't come home last night. Again.
Smith hesitated at the doorway of his father's study, peering into the darkened room. Papers were strewn across the desk, the chair pushed back as if Dr. Davis had left in a hurry. The sight was all too familiar. **The war might have ended, but not for him**, Smith thought bitterly. He stood there for a moment longer, hoping for some sign of life, before resigning himself to the emptiness and heading downstairs.
He grabbed a piece of toast on his way out, barely tasting it as he tossed it into his mouth. His old Audi sputtered to life as he drove to Graceland University of Technology (GUT). The car, a hand-me-down from his father, rattled slightly as it rolled down the street—a reminder of the connection between them that felt more mechanical than emotional.
Parking near the school's gate, Smith slung his backpack over his shoulder and trudged toward the campus. His mind was still on his father, the growing distance between them gnawing at him. **Would it have been different if he'd been around more? If he'd put family above his work for once?**
"Yo, Smith, my man! Hold up, buddy!" Jamie Foxx's voice cut through his thoughts. Smith turned to see his best friend jogging up, a wide grin plastered on his face.
"Hey, Jamie," Smith forced a smile, letting Jamie drape an arm over his shoulders in their usual friendly embrace.
"So, you catch that game last night?" Jamie asked, diving into their routine banter. He was already halfway through recounting a play when Smith's attention wavered.
As they rounded the corner, Smith's heart skipped a beat. Debbie Klopp, his girlfriend, was standing near the campus entrance. But she wasn't alone.
Hooper Lloyd, the arrogant heir to the Lloyd family fortune, had his arm casually draped around Debbie's waist. Hooper's reputation as a womanizer was well-known, and the sight of him with Debbie felt like a punch to Smith's gut.
He stopped dead in his tracks, his blood running cold as he watched Debbie smile up at Hooper, seemingly unaware of Smith's presence. Jamie, sensing the sudden shift in his friend's demeanor, followed Smith's gaze.
"Sh**t, man. Don't let it get to you. You know Hooper's just a jerk," Jamie said, trying to sound reassuring. But Smith could hear the doubt in his voice.
Smith wanted to look away, to pretend he hadn't seen them, but he was rooted to the spot. The noise around him faded—the chatter of students, the rustling of leaves, even Jamie's voice—all dulled as his world narrowed to the scene before him.
Finally, Debbie looked up and noticed Smith. Her smile faltered, her eyes flickering with something that looked like guilt before she masked it with a neutral expression. Hooper, either oblivious to or enjoying the tension, leaned in close to whisper something in her ear. Debbie giggled softly, the sound a dagger to Smith's heart.
Without a word, Smith turned and began to walk away, his pace quickening as his emotions swirled in a chaotic storm—anger, hurt, betrayal. Jamie called after him, but Smith barely heard him, the need to escape overpowering everything else.
"Smith, wait up!" Jamie jogged to catch up, but kept a respectful distance, sensing his friend's need for space. As they walked, Jamie tried to lighten the mood, but Smith remained silent, lost in his thoughts.
The day had barely begun, but already, it felt like everything was unraveling. Smith knew he'd have to confront Debbie eventually, but right now, all he wanted was to disappear. And as much as he tried to push it out of his mind, one thought persisted—if his father hadn't been so consumed by his work, would things have been different? Would he have been able to turn to him for advice, for comfort?
But those thoughts only deepened the sense of isolation, leaving Smith more alone than ever.