Growing up (MWL's sequel)✔️

40. You'll be a great writer someday

"Well, are you going to tell him?"

She lowered her gaze, "I don't want to. Can I do that? Can I just keep the baby and raise him on my own?"

"You do know he's going to find out pretty soon, right?" I pointed her stomach.

"I could be home schooled."

"Helen..."

"I could say is not his."

"He's not that stupid." I told her, "Once he finds out, he'll do the math."

"I could have slept with two guys the same night. Who knows?"

"He knows you. He knows you're in love with him and that you wouldn't spare a glance at another guy."

"How can he know that?"

I shrugged, "Sometimes, we just know."

She rubbed her face, "I don't want to tell him. It's my baby."

"It's his baby, too. He has the right to know." I sat next to her, "It's the right thing to do and you know it."

She let out a long breath, "I know. I know."

I wrapped my arm around her shoulder, "It'll be alright. You're not alone."

She rested her on my shoulder, "I know but I'm so scared."

I kissed her hair, "Don't be. I got you. Your safety have always been my priority." My mind travelled to a quick memory.

"Where is she? That little brat!" my drunken father screamed through the hallway. I walked to be right in front of him.

"She's not here." I lied. Helen was sleeping in her room.

"Then where the hell is she?" he punched the wall, still looking in the direction of her room.

"I don't know..." I pushed his chest, I was so small in front of him, "Idiot."

"What the hell did you just call me?!"

I ran downstairs and he chased after me. I knew he would hit me until he passed out but at least he would forget about Helen.

"Thank you for always looking out for me."

"It's been my pleasure."

Monday 9:40 p.m

I hated alcohol. I hated how it made people different from what they were. I hated seeing those disoriented eyes, the stumbling, the slurring. I just hated everything about it. Especially, the person it reminded me of.

My father...

That alcoholic monster that had taken everything from me.

I shook my head, pushing those thoughts away. It wasn't the time to think about him.

Regardless my hatred towards the liquid, I raised my hand with the shot and drank it. Tequila swam down my throat, burning everything in its path. The sensation refreshed me because for just a second, my mind and body focused on that burning sensation and it gave me a second of peace.

A second of oblivion.

I'm a hypocrite.

I smiled to myself. How could I drink after what happened? How could I? Why would I?

To forget.

Another shot.

Another second of oblivion.

But as soon as that burning sensation passed, her face came back to me. And for some reason, it wasn't her smiling face what came to mind, it was her, crying: The hurt and disappointment on her expression, that pain that had stolen the glint of her breath-taking blue eyes. Those lips I loved, pursed, trembling. That enchanting voice broken and cautious.