Wanted

•Empty Calls•

{•Unedited•}
~Bex's POV~

"It's the writing style he wants that's making it so fucking difficult. Why can't he just let us write like normal people?" Marisa says, finning snapping over the paper she has to write. I've let her look at mine and tried helping her, but her mind of a one way road and she's often in Lala Land. She refuses to let me help any more than I already have, but I'm assuming with how stressed she looks she'll be taking up my offer soon enough.
"To broaden our writing abilities," I tell her, my eyes scamming over the page in my history textbook. I hear her get up from her bed and walk to her desk. "Taking a break?"
    "No," she says. "I don't take breaks, I'm just...making a pit stop," she tells me, pretending to find what she needed and turning back around on her heel. She's nervous about the report she has to write that's due next week and refuses to take a break, so she can get it done "ASASFP/As soon as fucking possible."
    "That's just a synonym for break," I say, closing the book. She rolls her eyes at me, putting her computer back on her lap. The screen lights up her face, the reflection in her eyes. My phone vibrates on my bed, making a buzz sound. Grabbing it, I'm surprised to see Atticus's name across the screen. I can't think of anything he could need me for, which makes me worry that something terrible happened. What if Zav got arrested or worse, killed? "Hello?" I ask.
     The other end of the line is silent until it just hangs up. Slowly, I take the phone away from my ear and look down at it in confusion. After a few minutes it goes off again and the same thing happens. Then a few more minutes and it repeats. Eventually my worry turns more towards him. Has something happened to him? Is he okay? It's not like him to accidentally call people, he's hardly even on his phone.
     "Hey, I'm gonna take off for a while," I tell Marissa, sliding on my slippers. She doesn't even acknowledge what I say, her fingers finally typing away on the keyboard, making that annoying clicking noise. Getting up, I grab my jacket and keys from my desk.
   The hallway is even hotter than the rooms and it feels like an oven in there. They aren't joking when they say they have heat and conditioning. Despite the heat, I don't wait until I'm outside to put my jacket on. It distracts me from thinking of what could be happening. Does something just have his phone and is fucking with it? I don't think so, just because he has a password. Once I'm outside I'm able to focus more on the cold than my pounding heartbeat in my ears. That asshole better be either dead or damn near dead in a ditch for making me come out in this cold.
    •••••
          
        I've been knocking on the door for the past five minutes waiting for answer. The lights in the house are on, but the blinds are shut, so I can't see inside. I haven't herd any noise either. What if he's passed out on the floor? Looking down at my keys, I remember the key he gave me for when I stayed here one night and he wasn't going to be here before me. I had forgot to give it back the times after that. Is it wrong of me to just let myself into his home? What if he's perfectly fine? Dear god, what if I walk in and he's opening Pandora's box?
      Pushing away those worries, I focus on the more worrisome ones. Once I put the key in the door fling open at full speed. I stumble forward a step, my hair falling in front of my face. Looking up, Atticus looks like hell.
    "What happened?" I ask, steadying myself on my feet. He looks...confused to see me. His eyes are red and puffy, hands shaking at his sides. His hair is messy from what looks like running his fingers through too much. When I walk past him, I can smell the heavy scent of alcohol on him.
     Inside there's about six empty bottles of bear on the kitchen counter. He probably doesn't even remember calling me, or even that he did. He looks out of it. Slowly closing the door, I stand in front of him with my arms crossed.
     Why would he pick up drinking again? He switched his stress coping mechanism of drinking to over working; why suddenly stop?
    "What are you doing here?" He slurs, his voice raspy. He's drunk, which could be the cause of the red eyes, but the puffiness of them tell me he's been crying. He hates crying, even by himself, he's told me that before.
     "You called me three times and I was worried," I explain. He nods, looking at the floor. Thankfully, he doesn't stumble over his feet. I walk worse than him when I'm sober. "Why are you drinking?"
    "Are you trying to play twenty one questions?" He asks sarcastically. I put my head down, taking in a deep breath. "Shouldn't you be with my brother?" Don't even start with me.
    "He's working. I asked you a question, so answer it," I say, trying to act as immune to his current state as I can. Honestly, I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him that whatever is wrong is going to be okay. But I can't do that, I can't let him hurt me and act like it's fine. He'll just do it again, knowing I'll push it under the rug every time.
      "I'm drinking because the goddamn justice system is fucked up," he says, setting the bottle had in his hand down on the counter. Tell me about it; I've known it's been fucked up for years. I grew up knowing it was. "My dad murdered my brother in cold blood then tried attacking his daughter, and five years is enough?"
     He never talked about his parents, none of them did, and I never asked questions. It always seemed like a subject that was supposed to be left alone. Never would I have guessed what the situation had been. Curiosity never got the best of me when I would wonder why he was Marissa's guardian. I just knew what I knew and that was enough for me.
    "They're releasing him?" I ask. He looks lost again, his thoughts somewhere else. It's s stupid question that I don't even need an answer to. Of course, they're letting him out, that's the only reason why he would be reacting to his father. Knowing he's not going to say anything else or probably move for while, too spaced out, I grab his arm. "Just sit down," I tell him, leading him over to the couch.
     He leans some of of his weight on me. If he thinks I'm gonna be able to support him, he's got another thing coming; we'll both be on the floor. Holding the top of his bicep, I make sure he doesn't just throw himself down. I sit down next to me him at a good distance, fiddling with my hands. I don't like being here anymore. It used to be bring me a sense of comfort and safety, now my body gets more and more tense the longer I'm here.
     "I want you to be happy, you know, right?" He slurs randomly, rolling his head to the right to look at me with his hooded eyes. Them being red beings out just how green they are. The topic of conversation just took a turn."Even if it is with my brother because I understand that it was me who fucked up now. I'm sorry about what I did the other ni-"
    "We don't have to talk about that."
    "No, but I owe you an apology. I love you, I don't want to hurt you." I love you. Those three words coming from his mouth still have so much affect on me. In the short second he said that I felt my heart want to beat out of my chest. Will he ever lose this effect over me? He traces the rim of his beer with his index finger. When did he even grab it again?
    "You never hurt me," I tell him, trying to bring him some comfort. He didn't hurt me, physically at least; emotionally, he beat the living crap out of me. His red eyes stare back into mine, almost making me forget what I'm supposed to be thinking about.
    "I did, though. You cried, you tried getting me to listen to you so much times. If I had just let you explain every time and actually thought everything through, you wouldn't even be with him. You'd still be mine, like you're supposed to be."
     He's not wrong. I would probably be here right now, in this very moment, with him but under different circumstances. I would probably be laying down with my head on his shoulder, trying to comfort him in a different way, with more than words.
      "But things aren't like that," I say sadly, having to look away. He clears his throat. He holds his bottle out to me.
   "Want some?"
    "I can't," I tell him, looking at the bottle in his hand. The question of why he called me of all people still confuses me. He could have drunk dialed anyone.
   "Why?" He asks. I hate this, seeing him like this. It's seems wrong, like it shouldn't be allowed. "It's not like your pregnant." My eyes move the ground.  "Wait..."
     The past week I've told no one about my pregnancy other than my doctor when I eventually went. Obviously, she didn't give me the birth control shot because it doesn't work for shit it seems.
    "I found out a week ago," I mumble, slowly moving my eyes to his. He looks...confused? Mad? "I wanted to wait awhile before telling people." He gets up, pushing himself up on his fists. Maybe I shouldn't of come.
     "With Zav's baby?" I nod, licking my lips. His jaw clenches, hands resting on his hips. Please, please don't fight with me again. I can't take that right now between how torn he looks and my hormones. I'll start crying as soon as his voice rising the smallest bit. "Well fuck."
     "I'm sorry-"
    "There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Bex," he says, his voice raising. Shit, my eyes are watering. "You're happy with him, he treats you better, y-you're having his baby. I'm happy for you." The way his voice is shaking and his expression now pissed off tells me he's not happy at all. His hands are now balled into fists, making me nervous.
    "This isn't about me though, this is about what's going on with you. What happened with your dad?" I ask. If he didn't look mad before, now it's murderous. It's a good look on him, but I keep my sick thoughts to myself.
     "He's getting released. That man is sick in the head," he says, veins in his neck popping out. "There's just so much shit going on and I-I didn't know another way to cope."
    "Atticus," I say, stepping closer to him. His eyes soften when they find mine. "Everything is going to be okay. You are all grown now, he can't hurt any of you anymore."
    "You don't understand, he can."
    "No, I do know. He can't. Both you and Zav can defend yourselves and Marissa if needed. As for coping, you're a fucking dumbass. I would have rather you killed someone. You can't do this to yourself."
    He nods, listening to me for once. He lets me take his hand and sits back down. Pulling my hand, he tugs me down to his lap. I try getting up, but he keeps me in place. With anyone else, this would make me nervous, but I trust that he won't hurt me. He said it himself, he didn't want to. He won't.
      "You tired?" I ask, noticing that his eyes are now closed. His arms tighten around me. My heart is pounding in my chest.
   "Mmhm," he mumbles, resting his head back. Knowing there's no chance of getting out of his hold, I decide to relax. My head rests against his shoulder and neck, my legs between his. His large hands are practically laying top of mine. It's not too long after, that I fall asleep, completely forgetting about everything else.

   AN: Poor Attie 😔 I put up the first chapter of the next book in the Florencio Series, "The Worst Drug," as a prologue so check it out! I really hope you guys enjoyed!
    Question: Do you still ship Atticus and Bex?