Bad Boy Playground (h.s)

thirtyone

Why does he have these in his home? I don't want to think of the relation; I don't want to know. Instead, I fill up one of the few plastic cups in the same cupboard with water from the fridge. The cold is refreshing and curing the dry mouth that I was currently housing. Nothing worst than waking up parched.

Tiny footsteps make their way into the kitchen and there stands Lila wiping her fist against her eyes trying to get the sleep out of them.

"Peach?" She questions, no doubt picking up the nickname from her brother.

"What are you doing up, Li?" I use my gentle voice seeing as it's late and I'm speaking to a child. It's just common sense.

She shrugs, not giving a direct reason for her late night wander to the kitchen.

"How bout you?"

I still for a moment, wondering if it's better to be honest or simply pleasant.

"I had a nightmare." I state vaguely, being weary of the content of my so called 'dream'.

"Was it scary?"

"Yeah."

"Was it about the tax man?"

Her body sways as she twist her upper body side to side, her arms propelling the movement.

The question she asked hangs in the air. For a little girl to associate a nightmare to the 'tax man' is very telling. Although for most the idea of getting in trouble with the IRS is terrifying, I find myself wishing my problems were as tame.

View it like this: being arrested for tax evasion; or getting sexually assaulted by a priest after having buried an overdosed teenager in the woods. I wonder which one is less traumatic?

With that being said though, I've never had to worry about money so I can't speak on a would you rather type outline.

"No. It wasn't about the tax man."

"That's good; mommy says the tax man is bad and likes to take away people's things."

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"So what were you dream'n bout?"

"Just a silly dream; you should head back to bed little lady, it's very late."

She's too young to understand. Regardless of age, no one would understand. How do you explain a nightmare dreamt from reality; a horrific reality.

I've asked myself this question as far back as that dreaded night. What do other people dream of? I bet some would say rainbows and unicorns; I'd like to dream of those things.

The only dream I've had outside of my own crimes are those of others. The news really brings nothing but nightmares. Nightmares of being locked in a school and seeing a man opening fire into a crowd of my peers.

It's terrifying being able to feel the anxiety of a situation that your mind creates. I can't imagine the actual feelings that would take place if I was to witness such tragedy.

I've been reading too many Jane Austin novels; I'm starting to write with a certain entitlement.

I also suspect the shot of Anne's Hennessy is a cause for my sullen mood.

Regardless, I walk Lila back to her room with little persuasion before following suit to Harry's door.

I slip under his sheets and arm, cuddling against his side that doesn't have black duct tape working as a patch. First thing in the morning I'm driving him to the doctors.

I have no idea what my poor baby has been up to but given his spiral at my house and drugs in his cabinets, I know it's nothing good.

Thankfully, when we woke up he agreed to going to the doctors.