Drawn Read Online Free Page B

It’s amazing to watch.
    “But she’s still so young at heart,” he argues with her. “And what if something happens? I just…”
    “Dad, I’ll be fine. I’m not Craig. I’m not going to get so drunk I can’t look after myself. You’ve been training me since I could stand up. I know how to fight, no one’s going to do anything to me. Just please. This is the first time I’ve actually been able to say yes to something like this. Plus they’re my new flatmates. I’d like to go out and have some fun with them,” I insist.
    He exchanges glances with my mum, and they do that silent conversation thing again. I don’t know what’s going on beyond a few head tilts and raised eyebrows.
    “I’ll tell you what. You come and train at the studio this Thursday. Show me you can still take care of yourself - then I’ll have no issue with you going,” he concedes. I look at my mother again, who shrugs her shoulders in a manner that tells me to take what I’m given.
    “Fine,” I exasperate, wishing he wasn’t so damn over protective. I’ll bet no other girl going to this party will have to literally fight her way out of the door…
    ***
    On Thursday afternoon, I rock up to my dad’s martial arts gym to prove to him that I can take care of myself. I’m still so angry at him for making me do this. I know I could just say no and go out anyway. But I can’t escape my upbringing – it’s his house, his rules – which is half the reason why I’m leaving. I know that even though I’m legally about to become an adult, it’s not going to matter to him. He will still find a way to place restrictions upon me no matter how much I fight.
    I want to live freely. I want to make the rules. So, I’ll have to find my own way in this world. With or without my father’s blessing.
    But today, I’m still living under his roof. I’m still seventeen – so he gets his way.
    I bump my hands against the glass entry door to push it open and make my way past the gym in front to the dojo out back. I haven’t been to my dad’s gym for years. Not since I was a kid really. But it all looks exactly the way it always has. Blue mats cover the floor of the training area in the dojo. Around the walls are sparring weapons and pads. There’s a long row of staffs and wooden swords hung horizontally in a custom made rack on the wall in the far corner. There’s also a bit of Aikido inspired paraphernalia – posters, photos of dojo members participating in tournaments, as well as a really cool display of my dad in his prime. I always loved looking at these as a kid, especially the one where he’s jumping through the air and his ponytail is flying behind him. It looks like something out of a movie.
    My dad d oesn’t have a ponytail any more. Now his brown hair has turned grey and thinned out around his temples. He keeps it cut close to his scalp and seems to feel that he can balance the hair loss on top of his head by adding a bushy beard. For some reason, his beard has turned an auburn colour, so for once in our lives the whole family matches.
    I have long and incredibly thick auburn hair which I get from my mother’s side of the family – she has the exact same hair, so she’s always been great at showing me how to tame it. We also all have blue eyes, although where my mum’s are a clear blue, my fathers and mine are more segmented and flecked with bits of green and hazel.
    Pulling the elastic band from my wrist, I lift my hair high up on my head and fasten it away from my face as I walk toward my father. He’s standing in the centre of the room, talking to a few of his students. He’s well into his forties now, but he is still a formidable form, his broad strong frame and over six feet of height has him dwarfing most of the students. All except one.
    “Shit,” I hiss under my breath as I approach. It’s Damien. Immediately, my face begins to burn with the memory of the day before. I’m not sure if it’s embarrassment, nerves