Adapted// d.w (BOOK TWO)

{2}- The one where I am alone and am talking to dogs

It has been a week after Ryder's death and 5 days after his funeral.

Was everyone okay?
Maybe.

Was I okay?
No.

History had repeated itself. Ryder died the way my real mom did. Both of them jumped to save me.

Why me?
Maybe, it was written that I was supposed to die, but He decided to change my fate and kill the ones closest to me.

Nice.

I did not sleep. If I can still count, then it has been 5 days that I haven't slept.

"Dad!" I yell. I hear a 'thump' sound. Maybe Dallon fell off his bed.

"Coming!" He yells back. "What happened?"

"I cannot sleep." I say.

"Come here." Dallon slips in my bed. "Do you want to talk?"

"No, I'm good." I lie. "How's Breezy?"

"Not good." He replies. "Would you mind if she moved in with us?"

"You kidding me!" I exclaim. "I would love it."

"Okay." He hovers his hand over my face. I could feel it that he was smiling.

"Dad, can we go outside tomorrow?"

"Yeah sure. Where to?" He asks.

"Uncle Bren's." I reply. "We'll take Zero and he can play with Penny and Bogart."

"You want to go, just because Zero can play with Brendon's dogs?" Dallon asks.

"Yes." I lie, and he looks at me. "No, I know that Uncle Bren's childish antics would help me get my mind off everything."

"Okay, kiddo. Anything you want." He kisses my forehead and passes out into deep sleep.

But I was not able to sleep.

------

"Dad, wake up." I try to shake him, but my broken wrist was not helping.

"Yeah, I am awake." Dallon says, groggily and starts snoring again. I yell on the top of my voice. "Agh! I am awake, I swear!"

"Help me up." I say. He gets up and picks me up to the bathroom. Dallon quickly changes my clothes.

Don't you dare make a face. I have a broken arm and a wrist. How the hell do you think that I can do stuff.
He is my Dad, and he can change my clothes.

"What do you want for breakfast?" Dallon asks me.

Sleep.

"Anything you want to make." I give my standard reply.

He makes a sandwich, with some mayo and mustard and passes it to me. "How are the kids?"

"Not okay." I answer and take a bite into the sandwich. "Oh Dad, you are going to kill me, if you keep making these kinds of sandwichs."

"Thanks." He fake-flips his hair making us both laugh.

Why can't we stay like this. Forever.