It All Started With a Diary

the past|part 2

I can do this. Squaring back my shoulders, I adjusted my gaze to him. "I wanted to speak to you."

He turned his back to me, not answering. I watched as his arms raised above his head. Just a couple of more inches and he'd be close to the ceiling.

I bit so hard down on my tongue, it ached. As he went to remove his shirt, he staggered a bit, but quickly caught his composure once he caught me staring.

I held my breath as his eyes met mine in the mirror.

"Are you drunk?" I asked.

I knew that it was none of my business, but my curiosity got the best of me. I figured I knew the answer, but a confirmation didn't hurt.

His face was contoured by his confusion. "What?"

"You can barely hold yourself up. Are you drunk?"

His eyes fell from mine in the mirror. "It's nothing for you to worry about, sweetheart," he sighed.

My legs seemed to have a mind of their own. They carried me right behind Kade's stiff body. I wasn't sure if he had just gotten tense at my approach, or if it had already been that way.

"Why do you do this to yourself?" I asked, finding his eyes in the mirror again.

Kade's eyes were stuck on mine, never once leaving this time. "Because I can."

"That's not a—"

"You sound like my mother," he sighed again, shaking his head.

I shrugged. "Because she's right. Alcohol doesn't blur out everything, it only hurts you," I tried to convince him. "Plus, it's temporary."

Kade scoffed. "It seems that's what we were created for. To hurt each other and ourselves."

I shook my head. "It's the other way around, actually."

"Don't tell me you believe in that shit."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I do, I can see it happening."

He cocked a brow at me. "Not everyone is capable of love and all that soft shit, Kimberly. No matter how bad you want them to be," he chuckled under his breath.

"I don't believe that," I argued.

Kade shook his head, then began to walk away.

Panic seized me until I found myself saying, "Hold on."

He turned toward me with a light scowl. "What?"

My mouth grew fumbled at the intensity of his stare. "Where were you?"

He leaned against the frame of his bathroom door, crossing his arms across the landscape he called a chest. "Why do you care?"

I thought about that for a moment. He was right, why did I care?

"I don't, I just—"

He pointed toward the exit. "Then, there's the door." With those parting words, he walked into his bathroom. By the sounds of water, I knew he had gotten into the shower.