Daddy issues || h.s

1.5

His hands were in her hair and a vinyl record spun lazily in the recorder, playing a song about a girl, or maybe it was about drugs. It could be the same, because all he could think of was his hands in her hair and her lips on his. He felt her heartbeat against his skin and a heat rose in his cheeks as his blood started burning. She had finally turned soft, and he could feel a kind of glow radiating of her that he had never felt from her before. It all seemed like a dream, so sweet and pure. Of course it had to end.

The sound of the phone cut through the room, and she immediately pulled away from him. He sighed as he felt the warmth of her disappear as she walked across the floor and picked up the ringing phone. "Yes hello, this is Abigail Navarre." She said, and a deep sigh left his lips. He knew that voice, and it meant she would be out the door ten minutes later, running towards work and away from him.   

And he was right, because ten minutes later, he sat alone on the couch, the ghost of a goodbye kiss on his cheek. "Here we are again," he whispered to himself and fell asleep as the sun set behind the mountaintops.

His dreaming hands were covered in blue paint, and he could see the sun rising in the distance. But somehow he could not keep his eyes on the magnificent sky in front of him, they kept darting back and forth, as if he was looking for something. Back and forth he looked, turning around and around in circles, as if he was searching for a ghost. And in some way, he was.

A pit of frustration opened in his stomach, and he tugged at his hair in distress, the paint on his hands leaving blue marks in his dark curls. "Where are you?" he whispered. "Where are you, where are you, where are you?" he kept saying it to himself, over and over again, until he was screaming it at the top of his lungs. "Where are you!" his face was covered in blue now, marked by his shaking hands, and a small tear ran down his cheek. He knew it didn't matter how loud he shouted, because no one would answer. No one ever did.

The sharp sound of the phone cut through the room once again, and he jolted awake, his heart beating in his chest and a tear rolling down his chin. A sigh of relief left his lips, and he answered the telephone with a shaky voice. "Hello," he said, wondering who would call at this hour. The sky had turned black, and he could see the stars shining down on the city, he must have been asleep for hours. Dreaming a dream he had had a thousand times.

"Harry, is that you?" Her voice cut through to him, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Yes," he said, feeling his heartbeat quicken. "Is my mother there?" "No," he couldn't get himself to answer with anything other than one-word sentences. "Good," she said, and the line fell silent for a moment, leaving him with just enough time to wipe away the tear on his cheek. "Can you help me?" She said, and his heart stopped. "Yes," his voice still shook as he answered her. "You have to come get me," her voice was shaking a bit too. "Okay," he said, hesitating a bit before asking the next question: "Where are you?"

The line fell silent, and he feared for a moment he was once again trapped in his nightmare, but then he heard her suck in a shaky breath and say. "The telephone box at the end of the woods. Come quickly." And he let out a sigh of relief, because for once, someone had answered his question.