Evelyn.
"Where's Dad?" I asked, my high pitched voice breaking the dead silence. My mom looked at me with soft eyes, pain pricking them with tears.
"Eve," She started towards me.
I stepped back. My voice was firmer this time, "Mom. Where's Dad?"
She swallowed, "Gone."
I gasped, covering my mouth with sobs wracking my body. My chest felt a collapse, tears pouring down my face endlessly. My father. Gone.
"What do you mean gone?" I nearly shouted.
Her shaky hand pointed to the counter as I slowly stepped towards it. It was as if my feet were made of iron, and I could barely move.
There, in the middle of the counter, was the signature stamp of "PM" in blood red, surrounded by a circle.
Upon closer inspection, horror froze me.
It was literally in blood.
"Dead," I swallowed, "Dad is dead."
I jolted out of my sleep, sweat dripping from my head.
I fucking hate dreams.
The only thing is- that wasn't a dream. My sleep is full of memories, the trauma of my life that forced its way even into my sweet escape.
Light barely peeked through the curtain, signaling it was probably early morning.
I tilted my phone screen, the bright light reading at 4:50 am. I groaned, resting my head back and looking at the ceiling.
This is way too early for me to be awake. Way too early.
Scrunching my eyes, I threw a pillow over my head and screamed into it.
It must've been too loud, for a knocking on my door broke the silence of my apartment.
"I know you're awake Eve," Michael's muffled voice called out from behind the door. I sighed, throwing the pillow on the floor before sliding out from under the covers. My bare legs were cold against the air, the large shirt covering me to my thighs.
I like comfort in my own damn bed.
I also like sleeping uninterrupted.
Slowly unlocking the door, my hand fumbled with the knob and opened the heavy wood.
Michael stood in front of me, his hands in his pajama pants and a soft material shirt on him.
Without speaking, he entered the room and jumped onto my bed. I sighed, resting my head against the door for a moment before closing it shut.
"Come," he gestured, patting right next to him on the bed. With a soft sigh, I trudged towards him, pressing my knees into the soft cushion of my mattress before laying my head on his chest.
Our friendship drew us to cross self-put boundaries. I hate physical touch and yet, he was one of the only people I liked to hold me.
He brushed my hair for a moment, looking down at me with concern tinted through his voice, "Dreamt about your dad again?"
I nodded with a sigh, closing my eyes lightly. I felt his heartbeat in his chest, the soft skin of his stomach underneath my hand.
He pressed a light, gentle kiss to my head, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," I mumbled, looking dead center at the plain wall in front of me, "I just miss him."
"I know," He ran his hand up and down my arm, grazing the skin with a light touch, "I know."
YOU ARE READING
fbi- lrh
Fanfiction"Agent Hemmings?" I looked over the man in the frame of my door. He was currently out of his usual, formal work suit and in a black leather jacket. His whole getup, in fact, was black, dark, brooding. And it was very strange. "Luke," he corrected...
