𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 ᵈʸˡᵃⁿ ᵒ'ᵇʳⁱᵉⁿ [2]

2.5

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lavvie fuzzy bucket hat is the only thing holding my sanity together.

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dylanobrien bit of an old pic

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lavvie TRYING TO BREATHE

lavvie EXCUSE ME WHY HAVE I NOT SEEN THIS PIC BEFORE???

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LOS ANGELES

"Do you have to go?" Lavvie asked her husband, holding onto him tightly as they stood in the kitchen. It was the night before he left for the London to film, and to say Lavvie was having a bit of separation anxiety was an understatement. They'd done it many times before, but this time felt different.

"Yeah, baby." Dylan answered softly, his chin rested on her head, holding her in his arms. "But, I'll call every day, I will text you every moment I get and you can come see me." He assured her, but her anxiety didn't falter, it only grew worse; until she began to cry.

"Every time one of us leaves—" she sucked in a deep breath, "something happens, and-and I don't want anything to happen, not again, not ever." She cried into his chest, her hands bawling into his shirt tightly.

Hearing her muffled sobs was enough to break Dylan, he didn't want her to hurt. Because when she hurt, so did he. Yet, he didn't know what to say or do, to make her feel better in that moment. He couldn't promise her nothing would happen, because some things, he couldn't control.

Dylan let his hand tangle in her short hair, not caring to stop his own tears from falling as they stood in their dimly lit kitchen. Lavvie tried to calm herself, breaking from his hold and wiping away her tears. She let out a pained laugh, staring at his shirt where she previously was.

"I ruined your shirt." She mumbled achingly, the stained mascara now smeared over his grey t-shirt. Then she reached forward, tugging at the bottom hem, Dylan standing confused as she removed the shirt from his body. "I can-I can fix it, I just-"

"Lav, Lav, baby—" Dylan reached for the shirt as she grabbed the dish sponge from the sink. "It's okay."

She shook her head, her tears streaming down as she manic scrubbed at the t-shirt. "I ruined it, Dylan."

"You didn't—"

"I ruin everything."

Now, Dylan was truly confused. He didn't know what could've possibly given her an idea like that, but he didn't like it.

"What are you talking about?" Dylan asked, placing his hands over hers to take the shirt back, setting it on the counter top. Her head shook, and she heaved, leaning over the sink as the tears continued to flood down her face.

"My, um, my mum called this morning." She nearly choked on her words. It didn't take much for Dylan to piece together what she was getting at.

"How did she—"

"My dad, apparently he believes I should make amends." She rolled her eyes at the thought.

Lavender never had a good relationship with her mother, but it went down hill the day she moved out—or was kicked out. It wasn't long after her eighteenth birthday, she had finally worked up the courage to defend herself when he mother had one too many drinks. It wasn't as if she was abusive, physically, but the verbal abuse, that was almost worse. That day though, Lavvie had enough, she couldn't take it any more. But with few words said over the many years of shame, all of her belongings were bejng tossed out the door. Herself alongside them.

There had been times, where he mother tried to reach out—every time for money. Lavvie never gave her the time of day. But now, the woman was scratching her way back beneath Lavender's skin.

"What did she want?" Dylan questioned, lightly rubbing at his wifes back.

"To meet her granddaughter and you." Lavvie muttered, a frustrated sigh leaving her mouth. "I don't want that woman anywhere near our baby."

"And she never will be, okay? Frankly, I don't fucking want her even in the same country as Aurora or you." Dylan told her, Lavvie nodding slowly, biting back a broken smile.

"What if—"

"No, what if's, Lavender, because it'll never happen."