Don't die on me...

don't have to play brave

Here I stand trying to put the dinner I made on the table. But something's stopping me; I just can't serve the spaghetti Bolognese for me and my dad. My mother used to cook it every twelve days; it has always been her favorite dish. I have always wondered why she made it exactly every twelve days. But I guess it's just one of those small, random, specific things she does. She is a perfectionist and is one of those people who can freak out about the smallest things.

I got that quality from her. I mean I've been raised differently from the other people I know. One thing I've learned is that you have to be serious and fight for your dreams. Partying or blabbering about the latest school gossip aren't going to get me anywhere in life. Getting drunk and hooking up with guys is not the road u take if I want respect from others. I know what my goals are and what I want my life to be when I get older. I've always had my future planned for me, ever since I can remember.

I want to make my parent proud of their only child; I want them to be happy that they have me. That's why I am the way I am. I'm super serious about school and don't fool around. I don't have any close friends. Don't get me wrong, I have friends - people I talk to time to time, but I haven't any close friends. No one I can tell secrets to or have a sleepover at their house. Partly it's because it's only a distraction but also because I've never known someone I can fully trust. And a friendship isn't a real friendship if can't trust the other. That's why I've always been close to my parents; they are my only best friends...

I stood in front of the bowl of spaghetti, took a deep breath and I'm about to pick it up when I see my reflection on the window in front of me. My limpid, green-brown eyes match the straight, long brown of mine, with bangs that is just below my eye brows. My high cheekbones, almost pale skin and full, pink lips make me look a little exotic, not as regular as the other girls in my school. A hot streaming feeling rushed through my hands and I looked down to see that I've picked up the bowl of spaghetti and holding it without realizing. Shocked by the blistering hot feel in my hands I dropped the bowl, saw it crash into the ground and make a loud sound. But I didn't care at all because the pain in my hands just grew. A tear leaked my eyes and I panicked, didn't know what to do.

"What the hell happened?" I looked back to see Lucas with a worried look. He rushed from his spot at the door and stopped just in front of me. He looked at me took my hands and held them in his, between us. His big nut soft hands caressed mine so lightly, like he thought they'd break if he pressed harder. I noticed him look at the spaghetti, which was all around the floor, and shake his head.

"Does it hurt?"

Of course it hurts, I just burned my hands! But I didn't say it out loud, just nodded. "Okay, this is going to sting a little." He said while taking our hands and put it under the tap. Then I winched, tried to pull away from the ice cold water that caused my palms to sting even more. But Lucas was stronger; he just held our hands under the water tap. He moved his lips to my ear. "Shh Angel, it's going to be alright." He whispered and caused my spine to shiver. I closed my eyes, let the sound of him breathing mixed with the running water, calm me down. And eventually the water didn't hurt my hands, the cold feeling was nice.

Then I suddenly opened my eyes, realizing his hands were under the cold water through all this time, too. They must be freezing now. "Lucas! Your hands must be ice cold now. Remove them because mine don't hurt anymore." I said with a raised voice but he just looked at me, surprised. His pink lips opened and moved a little, like he wanted to say something. But he then shut his mouth, without a word.

"You don't have to play brave with me, Angel. And the cold water is nothing compared to what I've been through, it's nothing really." He looked me in the eyes, to assure me that he was telling the truth. I leaned my head to the side, and shook my head. "I'm not playing brave here, it doesn't hurt anymore. You don't have to take the pain or make yourself uncomfortable for other's sake. You don't have to do it, not here." He didn't say anything for a moment, just took it all in. I watched him curiously, and searched deeper in those blue eyes. Then suddenly, his eyes sparked, it was like they shot fireworks and he smiled. It wasn't a big, tooth showing smile, it was a light smile which reached his eyes and it somehow made me smile back.

He pushed the button that stopped the water from running and let go of my hands. I suddenly realized how close we stood, our bodies almost touched and Lucas was completely oblivious. I looked around quickly, hopping to found something that could take me out of here and I immediately found the spaghetti, scattered all around the floor. I went to pick up the mess I made but I was stopped by a hand on my arm.

"Go and dry your hands and put some cream on them. I'll clean the floor." He reassured me and I opened my mouth to argue but someone else beat me to it.

"What happened here?" my dad's shocked voice said from the doorway. "I actually asked her the same question without getting an answer, sir" I glared at Lucas; he was not turning his back on me now! What's wrong with him? One second he's totally nice and the next he's showing of that stupid smirk. When Lucas saw me glaring, his smirk just widened.

"Well?" my dad asked impatiently. "Well I was putting dinner on the table but the bowl was too hot and it burned my hand, causing me to drop it." My dad laughed and eventually Lucas joined him. Dad came closer and kissed me on my forehead. "My clumsy little Angela." he chuckled. I glared at him and Lucas, if looks could kill, they'd be dead right now.

"Not that you can say anything. You were late, as usual!" I stated and my dad backed up a little. "It was my job, sorry darling. But clean up this mess and put something on your hand for your burn. And Lucas, call me James, sir makes me feel old." He chuckled and walked out of the kitchen. But only to walk in seconds later. "Lucas, order some food. Anything you kids want, so we can eat it in the living room while watching super bowl." He said happily and walked out of the kitchen once again.

Lucas jumped at the mention of super bowl and grinned widely. "Looks like I'm staying until late tonight." He said as happy as my dad and went to bring the trashcan. I shook my head, boys will be boys ...

∞

"YES, GO GO GO!" my dad and Lucas holler excitedly while standing up from their seats. We've been watching the super bowl for the last hour or so and their really getting into the game. When their team - don't know the name of the team but they have blue and white clothes - win a score or a two they jump up from the couch and shout happily. But when they lose a few points, well let's just say I kept my mouth shut. And in between the point they talk about who's doing good and who's doing bad. But I can't complain; it's like watching a movie- I curiously wait for their next reaction. It's so ... entertaining. And besides I haven't seen my dad so happy for a long time, not since my mom's got sick.

He just fits with Lucas; they talk like they've been friends for a long time. My dad and I don't talk about or watch football together, he usually watch it with his friends. I just am not a football fan, I understand the game and all, but I just don't like it. I'm more of a soccer girl. When it's time for soccer season, we watch it together.

"I'm going to the bathroom while it's commercial." Lucas informs us and walks out of the living room. My dad put the volume on mute and turns to face me. He puts a hand on my knee and sighs deeply. "Angela there is something I need to tell you" he says with a low voice. I stay quiet. "Before your mom comes home tomorrow, there is something I want you to know." I create a beat with my feet and wait impatiently. "I talked to your Aria and she says that the spa treatment hasn't been helping, she's feeling worse. I want you to keep an eye on her for me while I'm on work. I don't want her to strain herself." He looks down to the floor and waits for my response. But how do you answer such news when it feels like they've hit you like a grenade? Is she feeling worse? What's the problem? Why can't they just tell me the truth?

Hundreds of questions flew through my brain but it wasn't time to think about those. I must think of my mom, and what's best for her. Not time to be selfish. So I answered with few words, not being selfish, just thinking about mom.

"Of course I'll do it, dad. As long as she needs me too"