Daddy issues || h.s

0.2

The sun flowed through the window and fell over his face, giving it a soft glow. He groaned, and opened his eyes, seeing the naked branches of the cherry blossom tree dance in the wind outside the bedroom. It was something about how it seemed to want to let go of its roots and blow away with the wind. He didn’t know, maybe he had just been staring at it for so long, he was starting to go mad.

He rolled over, finding the bed empty. As always. It was like she was incapable of lying in bed until he woke up, she was never there for him to say good morning to, or to try to kiss, but being unable to because of his morning breath. At first he liked that about her. She was independent, and didn’t need confirmation from anyone. But as the time drew on, he found himself wishing that once, just once, she would lie there when he woke up.

It never happened

Yet another groan escaped his lips, and he rolled over, putting his naked feet on the floor. It took a while for him to really wake up in the mornings. It usually required a hot shower, some morning stretches and half a dozen cups of coffee, but this morning he was bright awake, because he suddenly remembered the girl from the kitchen. The girl with the bright eyes and peanut butter. Adelaide. Abigail’s daughter. And if that wasn’t bad enough, he also remembered the way she had looked at him, like she was a lynx stalking it's prey. And he didn’t like feeling like he was her prey.

When he stepped out if the shower, his hair hanging down his face in wet ringlets, he could hear muffled voices coming from downstairs. Immediately, he could feel knots starting to tie in his stomach. For some reason, he really didn’t want to meet Adelaide again. He didn’t want to hear her speak to him in that way again.

He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and bit it. For a moment he actually considered going back to bed and tell Abigail that he wasn’t feeling very well, and would stay in bed for the day. But eventually, he realized how utterly ridiculous he was being. He was going to have to face her again soon anyway. He practically lived here, and she definitely lived here. It was a miracle they hadn’t run into each other before. But if what Abigail had told him was true, that girl spent most of her time running around in the woods with her friends, drinking cheap wine and dancing to music no one else listened to.

So he slung on some clothes and went downstairs, thinking he was ready for the day. He was not.

Nothing could have prepared him for what would happen that day.

Or the next day.

Or any of the days that were to come.