Ambrose has been in love with his best friend, Lana Hart, for years.
But she tied the knot with the love of her life three years ago, leaving Ambrose broken-hearted and disillusioned about love.
Enter Davina, the most difficult girl Ambrose has ever...
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Bravery.
It's an adjective. Wait, or is it a noun? My grammar skills are shit. Always have been. Anyway, it should have its own set of rules. Bravery spoke tremendously about a person's character. It could easily influence your view of someone. Watching Davina face her biggest fear head-on really altered my perception of her.
Six months ago, I've meant an irritating celebrity who aggravated every single fiber in my being. A single conversation with her ruined my week, but lately, it hasn't felt like a burden to be around her. Fake dating her wasn't something I hated anymore. I actually enjoyed spending private moments with her to see the real Davina.
Like the one who cried in my chest for hours. It's Davina in her purest, vulnerable state and I craved to see that side of her. I didn't want to see her upset again, but I wanted the barricade she has around everyone to be lowered when I was with her.
Is that selfish?
She inspired me.
Davina made me rethink all the complicated relationships I had yet to tackle with my parents. All my life, I craved to have a real family. Could I really go on ignoring them even if they stayed sober for the rest of their lives? Was it too late to forgive my father for beating me all those years?
I really was an asshole.
I advocated for Davina to confront her father when I ran away the second I came in contact with mine. My finger hovered over my uncle Craig's number; my father's brother...someone who still believed there was good in him.
My pulse quickened as I pressed the call button. Three rings went by before his stocky voice came through the phone. "Hi, Ambrose! I almost thought you forgot about your little old uncle now that you're big and famous."
I chuckled, lightly. "No, I could never. I still owe you big time for taking me to carnival fifteen years ago."
"You still remember that?"
When I seven-year-old, I knew a lot about life. Things ordinary children wouldn't need to worry about. Like how much money bills cost, how to cook a mean batch of pasta, how to act around my father so he wouldn't take it out on me and when it wasn't safe for me to remain home.
Something about that day. I couldn't put my finger on it... Maybe it was the rain; My father detested getting his polished shoes wet. Maybe it was the lack of beer in the fridge when he came home. Or how he lost the manager position at his job from someone who he considered below him?
The aura around the house always shifted darker when he was in those moods. I locked myself in my bedroom, but that didn't mean he didn't hear the door slam shut. Another thing he hated. My hands concealed my ears, but the pounding was so intense. The tears exuded from my eyes as his punching got stronger, making the splits of wood dig into my back.
