The Support Group ✖ BajanCanadian [COMPLETED]

two : bittersweet

Chapter Two - "Bittersweet"

"Pizza?" My dad half-smiled at me as I scrolled through my apps. We never did anything special for dinner anymore, and for some reason I liked that. I liked having no 'special traditions' that most people look forward or up to. We were in no position to keep promises towards each other.

"And beer." My father added. He never minded me consuming any type of alcohol since the day I turned eighteen. Even before that he tried convincing my mom to let me have some at around age sixteen. She'd scoff, smack his shoulder - well, tap it lightly - Mom was never really violent - and go back to whatever she was doing before.

"Can't, Doc says I have to go on a diet." I sighed dramatically, clicking my phone off and tucking it in between the couch cushions. My dad groans from his seat.

"Wine?" He pestered as I entered the kitchen in search for food. I shook my head. "Nada."

I reached up and opened one of our white cabinets. As my fingers scanned the wood, I remembered the day we moved in. I remember Mom shoving a paint brush into my tiny fingers and wrapping her arms around my waist, holding me up and placing her soft, warm hand over mine. She planted the brush near the bottom of the cabinet, instructing me to wave the brush up and down, each stroke becoming less and less tense as the afternoon flew by. By the end of the night, we were finished. Of course, Mom had to do many touch-ups to our little project, but in the end it was worth it.

Since I forgot to wash most of our dishes last night, I had to settle for a small glass jar sat in the corner. I grabbed it swiftly, shutting the cabinet behind me. The glass had small features, like rigid butterflies and flowers. I laid it on the granite countertop, my thumb rubbing small circles into its sides.

"You getting water?" My father questioned from the barstool. I nodded, lowering the jar under the rushing water, letting it fill to the very top. I let my eyes wander the small kitchen space, looking for something to sweep away my bored expression. My gaze fixed on a cracked light bulb in the hall, a small streak of light peering out of the crack.

"Quinn?" Dad waved his hand in front of my face. I felt a blistering coolness stab my hand, my wrists, most of my forearm. I looked down to see most of my left sleeve rolled up, water crystalizing my scars. I ignored the searing pain the water gave me, looking up at Dad.

Words cannot explain the way my heart shattered when I saw his expression. Pure anger, sadness, regret, and worry conveyed his every move as he stepped towards me.

"Quinn..." His tone was softer now, a lot more fragile. My movements were slow and steady, I was afraid I might alarm him if I tore it away faster. I could see he wanted to help, I could see it in his eyes when I backed away. I didn't want him to think I was scared of him, or how he might react physically. I just needed an escape, but the only one I knew would trigger my father even more.

I needed Mitchell Hughes.

Before he could say any more, or even breathe a syllable, I was gone. I ran as fast as I could out of my house and into the street. Humidity spared me, all that was left outside was biting bits of wind that blew every minute or so. I zipped up my jacket, tugging both of my sleeves down roughly, far past my wrists. I was lucky this was my father's jacket.

I cursed silently. I didn't know what time it was, and that meant I couldn't calculate where Mitchell Hughes was.

I guess I'll just have to wish he's nearby.

The sun dipped in the distance, colors of pink, orange, and blue drowning into one another, seeping into the night sky. Street lights flickered on around me.

"Quinn?" I heard a deep voice call from behind me. The voice was confused, from what I could tell. I registered the voice in less than a minute, whipping around to face him.

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can u bastards comment cause i need feedback k thnx ily

- piper