Bad Boys Do Cry

8: I Love You, Daddy

It's been a week. Yay.

Oliver Grey has lived on my couch for a week. Sure, he usually doesn't show up till 3am from god knows where doing whatever a teen boy does till 3am. Probably racking up those bitches. Ew, okay, remove image from head. I wait up for him every day. Some unconditional fear that he might not come back one night. It's probably bad for me, to stay up so late, but it gives me time to think about this whole raising two kids with no money problem I seem to have.

Yes, Oliver said he has money. Yes, he told me he would help. Yes, I hate myself for taking the easy way out. Yes, I feel guilty about doing so. No, I'm not about to walk up to him and ask him for money. I still have some dignity.

"You shouldn't wait up," Oliver says as he walks in through the front door.

I look up at him, taking my eyes off the overdue bills that keep stacking up.

"I don't mind," I shrug my shoulders.

He walks up to me and places his hands on the table, one on either side of me as to trap me in. His body is against the chair as he leans over. His scent of vanilla and teakwood takes over and I'm surprised someone can still smell good at this ungodly hour. I probably smell like cheese. Sexy.

"You need money."

He doesn't so much ask than he does tell me. Like I don't know my own terrible situation.

I tilt my head up so I can look at him, my head hitting his chest as I do so. He looks down to me and locks our eyes together. I say nothing and do nothing for a while.

"Yes," I finally whisper.

Oliver just pushes away and walks to my room. I hear the bathroom door close and the shower turn on. Always a pleasure, Oliver Grey.

I roll my eyes and walk to my room. Already in pjs I jump into bed and grab my phone. Levi has been texting nonstop about the little situation I'm in.

He figured it out after noticing that Oliver was driving me everywhere and I kept refusing his services. I'd told him to keep it down when he came running down the halls with the light bulb shining bright atop his head. He's been a little overprotective and way too concerned. I keep saying that I can handle myself. I'm sure Oliver Grey isn't a bad boy I can't handle.

Sure, Levi was sad and said he misses the twins, but I know deep down he likes having the extra free time. Maybe finally pursue that girl he's been pining over. Now that he doesn't have to be my Uber driver anymore, I'm sure he can appreciate Oliver just a little. But still, everyone knows Oliver Grey's reputation.

I shoot Levi a quick text, sending proof of life, before going on Instagram. Everyone's posts look so happy and glamorous. It's hard to think any of it could be real. Curious, I search Oliver's name. His account pops up and I start stalking the posts.

There were only two pictures. One of him with the championship trophy and one of him with Grayson Adams. But these were both from sophomore year. Since then, Instagram silence. Sure, he was tagged in basically every picture that was somewhat connected to him, but his own page was kinda boring. I click on Grayson Adams' page and start stalking him instead. While Grayson was mister popular, Oliver didn't really interact with anyone. Sure, he was on the football team, but I never saw him around those jocks if Grayson wasn't around. Only Grayson seemed to be able to get him to talk.

While I was scrolling through Grayson's page I felt a shadow fall over me and when I realized what was happening, my phone was out of my hands.

"Grayson Adams?"

I look up at him in confusion. He's in my phone, scrolling through the page. I'm about to speak up when I look up to him and realize he's only in sweatpants. His torso is on display, lean and toned. The bruises he had are fading, now just a faint green as they're almost healed. I absentmindedly lick my lips but quickly shake my head slightly to regain control and speak up.

I shrug in response but since he's not looking at me I speak up, "Yeah?"

"He's my friend."

"You have friends?"

Oliver rolls his eyes and throws my phone back to me. He's already across the room and laying on the couch, his back towards me as always.

"Not going out tonight?"

"Sleep."

"I thought you didn't need sleep."

He grunts in response and I take that as the end of that conversation. I cuddle into my bed and turn to face Oliver. His breathing is shallow but I can still see the rise and fall of his chest. I keep my eyes trained in him but at some point I drift away into a dream filled sleep.

-*-

"I have a business trip, princess."

"Don't go daddy. Don't leave me with mom."

My dad was packed and ready to leave for his business trip to Paris. He'd always been my favorite, and I knew deep down I was his.

"You'll be alright, princess."

I hug him tight and he picks me up and spins me around before setting me down again. He kisses the top of my head and squeezes me tight.

"I love you, daddy."

He never came back from that trip. Not a call,
not a note, not a whisper. He's a ghost. Worse, he's a bad memory that'll never go away.

Three years later, things decide to change again.

I find mom's suicide note stuck on the fridge. At first, I walk up to it thinking it's just her telling me she went shopping, like she usually does. This, was much worse.

I gasp and fall to the floor when I start reading the note. It's detailed on every bad thing my father had done to us. Every lie, cheat, and steal.

I stay on the cold kitchen floor for hours. The twins were at a sleepover, something my mom had planned for them. She had planned this day. She wanted me to find the note alone. And that made me cry even harder.

I don't know what to do, I'm only fifteen. I know nothing of raising kids, my own brothers. But I had to learn quick. The authorities had been paid off to let the three of us stay together. Mom wanted me to be a parent. The one she obviously couldn't be.

She'd written 'I love you' in her note, but how much could she have meant it, felt it, if she decided to run away from her problems in such a devastating way. I start crying again, reading I love you in her handwriting over and over again.

Mom came from a rich family and as an only child had inherited all of the money. Dad, on the other hand, was a normal middle class kid. Apparently, he'd grown greedy for money and tired of mom. According to her note at least, that's what mom thought.

I read the note one more time, committing it to memory. If my dad ever decides to come back, he'll have to face his daughter.

-*-

I woke up sweating and clutch the silver chain around my neck. The dreams hadn't been back in a while, but I guess tonight they decided to give a little encore. I looked at the time and saw it was 7am. So much for sleeping in on the weekend. I collapsed back into my pillow and looked at the ceiling. My hand instinctively went to the scar on my stomach, close to my hip bone. The one Oliver had pointed out his first day here.

Oliver. I looked over to the couch and saw him with his back still towards me. The bruises seemed to glimmer in the faint light of the sunrise. He still hadn't opened up about those bruises. Hell, he hasn't opened up at all.