Daddy issues || h.s

0.7

He felt like he was falling down a hill, gripping at stones or branches trying to find something to hold on to. Tears were burning in his eyes, and his breaths came in short, desperate gasps. He never wanted to end up here, living with a woman almost a decade older than him. He was 23 years old, he was supposed to be out, he was supposed to be living life and exploring the world, not being stuck here, sleeping with someone he didn't love to pay rent. He had never felt cheaper, because the moment they were done, she rolled over on her side and fell asleep, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He was drowning, and there was no one there to save him.

The floorboards creaked under his bare feet as he pulled on a t-shirt and snuck out of the room. It felt as though there wasn't enough air in this house, like someone had sealed all the doors, and they were slowly running out of oxygen. He had to breathe. He had to get out of this house.

The lock clicked as he opened the door to the backyard, it was so dark he could barely make out the shadow of the big cherry blossom tree and the empty pool. The darkness enveloped him, and in the night, he could finally breathe again.

A cold wind brushed over his legs, and he shivered. The wind made a sound, like the sigh of a man that hadn't slept for a hundred years, but it wasn't the wind. No, it was something else indeed.

Adelaide was sitting at the edge of the empty pool, her feel dangling over the edge of the hole. A thick blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, and her blonde hair blew in the wind. He stood for a moment, debating whether or not he should go over to her or not. He was surprised by how much more willing he was to sit down beside her, than he had been to sit down beside Abigail earlier, but he decided not to let it stop him. Adelaide was here now, and if he wanted to sit beside her, he was going to do it.

So he walked over to her, slinging his legs over the edge of the pool as he sat down.

"Bit cold for a swim, isn't it?" He said, a smirk playing in the corner of his lip. She let out a small laugh and looked at him. "Anything to escape the sound of you banging my mother." He knew the words were meant to make him uncomfortable, and they did, but not as much as she thought. "Oh." Was all he could say, he always seemed to be at a loss of words when he was near her. It was like her soul took up so much space, he felt there was no room for his small, pathetic words. She seemed too important for them.

"Why do you stay with her?" she asked. "You could probably get any girl you wanted, and you chose my mother, why?"

"I don't know, I guess its just because I'm too scared to leave." He answered, feeling the guilt weighing him down as he spoke the truth he had so newly discovered. "Do you love her?" her question was sharper than the winter air. "I...I, eh"

"If your answer isn't obvious, then maybe you should leave." She had no idea where her words came from, but they fell out of her mouth before she could stop them. They were like water nearing a waterfall, unable to stop before they were spilling over the edge and out in the void. He looked shocked. His green eyes flickered back and fort, and his dark eyebrows were knitted together in a frown. His plump lips hung in an O-shape, and he was unable to find anything to say.

She did have a point; if he wasn't sure he loved her, why did he stay? Nothing seemed to be stopping him from getting up and leaving this second, but still he could not do it.

"Do you want me to leave?" he was finally able to say. "No." her answer came too fast, like it was something she had rehearsed. "No, I don't want you to leave." Her fingers trembled as she played with the hem of her shirt. She was still wearing the same, wine stained clothes.

"Why do you drink so much?" he asked, not really expecting a real answer. "You know you're the first person to ever ask me that, right?" her big blue eyes shone in the dim light. They were filled with a sincerity he had never seen in real life before, but only read about in books from another time. "No, I didn't"

"Well you are. Everyone else either just assumes I don't want to talk about it, or, in my mother's case, doesn't care." She sucked in a sharp breath, as if the effort of talking was too much for her. "But I guess that's why I do it, because it confuses people, because it makes them see me a certain way. They see me as a troubled kid, or as a girl who doesn't care about anything, which is a thousand times better than the truth."

"And what is the truth?" The question made her laugh, and he saw her wipe away a small tear in the dark. "The truth? That I care so much it hurts? That I feel everything so very deeply? That I love so hard and passionately, everything seems to fall apart in my hands? Is that the truth?" She wasn't crying any more, but he could still feel passion radiating from her body. He wanted to stretch out, he wanted to touch her, to give her some sort of comfort, but he didn't. He didn't want to touch the radiating piece of art in front of him, because he was scared she would break into a million pieces if he did.

"Enough," she whispered. "Enough now." She kissed his cheek, and whispered a soft "good night" before she got up, leaving him all alone in the darkness of the night.