XPLR | Colby Brock

~65~

I laid back on Colby's bed, wearing the clothes I would be wearing to the party. Nothing special. Just high waisted shorts and a crop top, my stomach barely pokes out.

"So then this girl just yells, 'she's legal!'," he says through a laugh, sitting against the wall shirtless. I can tell by the look on his face that he loves talking about his fans. But then he smirks at me. "Little do they know I have the most gorgeous, talented, and amazing girlfriend already," he said as he moved over to me and stayed above me. I just giggled as I looked away from his eyes but he started to kiss my cheek.

"You thought that would stop me."

"I went to coffee with Kai the other day," I said quickly. It came out. I've felt guilty about it the whole time we've been together again, Colby and I.

He stopped and slowly came up to see my eyes. "What?" He asked, but I couldn't figure out what his tone was. There was no context. He moved off of me and I sat up. "Why?" He asked in the same nonexistent tone.

"He... wanted to apologiz-" I started, but he didn't let me finish. His tone was clear now, he was angry. "What did he do to you?" He asked has his hand went to my upper arm and gripped it tight.

"Nothing!" I said and pulled away. The force of his gesture had scared me. He loosened his hold on me and his hand migrated to my cheek. "Wait, Rose, I'm sorry," he said as he rubbed my cheek. I slowly looked back at his eyes. He stared at me for a few seconds, searching my eyes for emotion, before he asked, "What was your childhood like?"

Oh no.

I'd never been asked that question before. I looked away nervously, and for some reason tears threatened my eyes. There's another few beats of silence as I try to keep my tears in. I could feel my lip quivering.

"Did your parents hit you?"

I don't know how I could've gone on and never tell Colby about my father. Eventually Colby would've wanted to meet him, and then I would be out of excuses... because I don't want to say he's dead. If I get a call one day that he's dead... I don't know how I'd feel. A part of me wants to hate him for what he's done to me, but another wants to love him simply because he's my father... and no matter how much I deny it, I still want that father-daughter relationship I never got to have.

Colby just pulled me into a hug and placed one hand on my head, stroking my hair gently. "They did, didn't they?" He asked. Don't say they, it was just my father. My mother loved me so much...

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

He kissed my forehead gently and his hand went down to my thigh, gripping it and pulling it over his leg so he could bring me closer. "It's okay to cry in front of me, you know. Cry because you're sad at least. You've cried in front of me for what Kai did, but I think you were scared, not sad."

I still didn't say anything as I fought the tears. I'm wearing eyeliner and mascara, I can't cry.

"It's okay, baby," he said gently. I couldn't stop it now. Why am I crying over the memory of my father?

Why did I say that like he's dead?

Tears streamed out of my eyes as Colby's hand on the small of my back pulled me closer, his other hand sitting on my thigh and squeezing it a bit. I am sad. I miss my mother. I missed being hugged and held like Colby does with me. I missed Colby. And maybe now that's what I was crying about. No, right now, I'm crying about everything. My childhood, piano, and my boyfriend.

It took a little while but I finally stopped crying. Colby pulled me away a little bit and smiled at me. "There she is," he said with that soft, warm tone he usually greets me with. I sat up on his lap and chuckled as I rubbed my eye, my fingers coming back black like I had just dipped them into the void.

"Do you want to go take a shower? We still have a few hours until the party starts," he said as he leaned in and kissed my neck lovingly. "I have to now," I chuckled softly.

He led me to the bathroom and let me inside. "I'll be in my room," he said and kissed me, more intense than I had expected, then turned away and shut the door.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Seeing myself with mascara running down my face reminds me of the night I took a shower to try and forget.

Fourteen years old. When I would take a knife with me.