𝙛𝙖𝙢𝙤𝙪𝙨 || 𝙟𝙤𝙖𝙤 𝙛𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙭

𝗳 𝗼 𝘂 𝗿 𝘁 𝗲 𝗲 𝗻

HOLLYWOOD
"i only looked at him as a friend until i realized i loved him"

~lyla~

i'm embarrassed

i'm. so. fucking. embarrassed.

first, a guy who i dont even like brings me food and for some unknown reason i ask him to stay, then he gets stuck here because of a storm, and then we make out on my kitchen counter in the middle of the night.

and then my drunk father, who i haven't seen in years, comes stumbling through my apartment door and is now passed out on my kitchen floor, while the guy who just ate my face off not even 3 hours ago has to watch.

what the fuck.

like seriously, what the fuck.

i'm pacing up and down the hallway trying to think of my best possible option at this point. i grab my phone and immediately go to my brothers contact. my finger hovers over the call button and i frustratingly decide against it, stuffing my phone into my side pocket.

i walk back into the kitchen, my fingers tangled in my hair, and joão is sitting against the wall next to my father, watching him carefully.

after he stopped asking for me, he passed out and neither me or joão has been able to wake him, so for the moment he's gonna have to keep comfy on the floor.

there's a weird white foam oozing out of his mouth and his nose is so clogged up with snot i can hear his breathing from the other side of the room. he looks the same, just more wrinkly and pale, almost like he is dead.

"are you sure he isn't dead?" i huff. i know he isn't dead because i can hear his obnoxious breaths, but maybe a conversation can lessen the amount of awkwardness i'm currently feeling.

joão stares at him for another moment, analyzing him. "i don't think so." i move towards them, and i'm kinda scared to approach my father, even though he isn't even conscious.

i haven't seen him in almost a decade and i'm not sure why he's here or what's going on with him, but the moment he wakes up i'm kicking him out of my house.

"do you think we should call 911, he's been unconscious for a while?" joão asks and i can tell he's genuinely concerned about the old man stinking up my entryway.

i actually take it into consideration for a moment and then remember all the times he did this when i was young. he would get so drunk and would fall asleep on the couch. he could sleep for days straight, and then one day he would just be gone.

then the cycle would start again when he showed up at our doorstep a week later with a beer between his finger tips and a cigarette stuck between his thin, chapped lips.

"no, he'll be fine." i didn't owe this man shit. with the way he treated me and micah and the things he's done and scarred me with, he doesn't deserve anything.

joão is probably so confused and has a million questions about the man on the floor, but i'm not sure if i want to tell him. i've never opened up to anyone about my childhood before besides meredith, harper, and nate, andfor right now i think i wanna keep it that way.