Your POV
"Just - just go to your room!" I scream.
"Fine! I don't even want to be around you anyway!" she screams back at me. "You're always nagging at me, and I put up with it all the time, even though you just stress me out even more! I'm sick of being controlled like this!"
She twirls around quickly and runs up the stairs, pounding her way to her room. I cringe at the sound of the door slamming. It seems to reverberate in my chest.
I stand there dumbstruck for a moment before sinking down onto the couch behind me and resting my face in my hands. I can't help the hot tears that escape my eyes. There's nothing worse than arguing with your daughter like that.
I hear the sound of our front door opening behind me and sit up straight, trying to wipe away my tears with the palm of my hand.
Timothée walks in, his arms full of brown grocery bags. He kicks the door shut behind him.
"I fucking hate the paparaz - what's wrong?" he instantly asks when he sees my face. He drops the bags to the floor, disregarding putting them in the kitchen.
I shake my head and bite my lip, trying to hold myself together.
He walks over to the couch and sits next to me. I press my face into his chest and let myself cry. I can't handle this anymore. I can't keep fighting with her like that.
"Woah, woah, seriously, what happened?" he asks gently. He wraps both arms around me, rubbing my shoulder slowly.
"It's... y/d/n..." I say, sniffling and pulling away from him. He keeps his arm around me.
"Oh..." he says, an expression of understanding washing over his features.
"Yeah... I told her that I didn't want her out with Julie tonight. Because I know how Julie is, and she's been hanging out with her a lot, and I'm worried about the bad influences that whole group could have on her," I tell him.
He nods. This is something we've talked about before.
We're not helicopter parents. In any way. We honestly let her do whatever she wants most of the time because she's smart and level-headed. She's sixteen. She knows how to handle herself.
But her friend Julie, who she's been spending more and more time with, is just not a good influence. There's a whole group of kids that she's getting in with, and none of them seem to make good decisions. And it's getting to the point where Timmy and I stay up worrying about where y/d/n is with her.
"I thought we were going to wait to have that talk with her," Timmy says quietly.
"Yeah, I know, but she told me she was going out with them tonight and I just couldn't let her go. And I don't deserve to be screamed at like that - I mean, she screamed at me," I tell him.
He nods.
"I just feel bad that you two have been... fighting... a lot lately," he says.
It's true. We have been fighting more often. It's very easy to butt heads with a teenager.
"I just don't know what to do. I'm trying to be a good mom, but it's like I'm always the bad guy." I twist my fingers on my lap.
"I think that's just part of being a teenager. Hating your parents a little."
I snap my head up at the word "hate".
His eyes widen.
"No, no - I didn't mean "hate". I just mean, it can be hard for them, you know? I'm sorry," he rushes. I shake my head and look back down.
"It's fine. I think you might be right," I tell him weakly.
"She doesn't hate you," he assures me quietly.
I sigh before resting my head back on the couch.
"I'm gonna go talk to her," he says after a moment.
"Good luck," I tell him. He doesn't answer, he just walks upstairs.
Timothée's POV
I walk upstairs slowly, processing what I might say to reason with y/d/n. I just feel bad for y/n. I know this whole phase has been hard for her, and she's trying her best to understand y/d/n. I stop in front of her door before knocking softly.
When I don't get a response, I creak the door open very slowly.
At first, I don't see her. Then I realize what she's doing.
"Y/d/n!" I can't help but yell.
She's sitting on her windowsill, feet dangling out of our fourteenth story apartment.
She jumps at the sudden sound of my voice, and grabs onto the side of the window to catch herself.
Without thinking, I rush over to her and grab her arms, pulling her back to the other side. She slips back in, still panting because I've startled her. We both end up on the floor. I jump up and slam the window shut.
"What were you thinking?" I ask angrily.
She shrugs and stands up before sitting on her bed, curling her legs underneath her.
"I do it all the time," she says. I can tell by her tone that she's trying to be nonchalant. I see right through it.
"Look, just, I mean, y/d/n - you can not just sit on the ledge of your window like that. Okay? What if you fell? You almost fell!" I exclaim, waving my hands in front of me as I talk.
She doesn't answer.
I need to calm down. I can't help my sudden burst of anger at her blatant stupidity.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply through my nose, letting the breath out slowly.
When I open them again, I see that she's turned to the other side of her bed, pulling on a pair of shoes.
"Y/d/n, wait," I say. I sit next to her on the edge of her bed.
She ignores me and keeps pulling on her shoes.
"You didn't... you didn't want to fall, did you?" I ask slowly?
She looks up at me and starts laughing.
"You think I'm suicidal?" she asks through hysterics.
It's not very funny to me.
I shake my head and keep looking at her. Her smile fades and she drops one shoe on the floor, abandoning all efforts to put it on.
"No, dad. I'm not suicidal," she says, her voice thick with sarcasm as she looks at me, annoyed.
I want to think before I talk, but the image of my daughter sitting on the ledge of her windowsill seems to be imprinted in my brain.
I take a moment to control my thoughts.
"Y/d/n, we're... we're just worried about you," I tell her. She doesn't answer. She just stares straight at the wall in front of us.
So I continue.
"I know how much you've been fighting with mom lately. I just don't want you to feel like either one of us are against you right now. We're on your side. We just want what's best for you. And I don't think that Julie and that group -"
"You don't know that she actually wants "what's best for me", dad! She's infuriating! She's trapping me here!"
"Look, y/d/n, you've got to stop blaming this on her. It's both of us who don't want you out late at night with a group of kids who don't seem safe," I try to reason with her.
She flops down on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.
I'm hesitant to say what I'm about to say next, but at this point, I think I need to.
"Y/d/n, you can be vulnerable with us. You know we'll understand whatever you're feeling. We've been through life too. We're worried about you, y/d/n. You've been pulling away from both of us, and villainizing your mom. This isn't just... normal teenage behavior."
My words are bold, and I can tell they leave an impact on her.
I watch her face carefully. I can't read anything, but then her eyebrows twitch in slightly and I watch as her eyes grow glassy.
I shift back and run my hand through her hair, trying to comfort her.
"Is there anything you want to tell me?" I ask her.
She sits up slowly and stares at the wall in front of us once again, crying quietly.
"It's just... I'm confused at my own head. I feel out of control with my emotions..." she starts. I nod.
I think she's going to keep talking, but then she rests her head on my chest and starts crying even harder. I wrap my arms around her as tightly as I can, resting my chin on top of her head.
I can't help the few tears that leave my eyes too.
***
An hour later, we are all sitting in the living room.
I break the stagnant silence.
"Could you tell us more about how you've been feeling?" I ask y/d/n carefully.
She nods and swallows, staring at the floor. She's wrapped in a big blanket, and it makes her look smaller, younger. It reminds me of when she was little, and everything was pure bliss and hope.
"I - I just... I'm having trouble dealing with everything all at once... school, and friends, and thinking about the future... and mom... I feel bad about arguing. It always makes me feel so guilty and horrible and I'm really sorry about creating all of that tension," she says. I wasn't expecting her to open up this quickly, but now it seems like she's on a roll. "I just wanted to spend time with Julie because she's different and that whole friend group feels so new and exciting. And I just feel so out of control with my thoughts and life and everything is just so hard to manage and I'm sick of this pattern of extreme emotions," she finishes quickly, still staring at the ground.
I glance over at y/n's face. She's biting her lip and she looks extremely sad.
"Y/d/n, we had no idea. I'm - I'm so sorry we didn't notice you were feeling this way," y/n says.
Y/d/n shakes her head and keeps staring at the floor.
We are quiet for another long moment.
"You know, your mom and I have both been to therapy at some point in our lives," I tell y/d/n. "Do you think that would be helpful? Just to try out?" I ask her.
She nods slowly. She's circling the floor with one socked foot, creating the same figure eight pattern over and over again.
"We want you to talk to us too. But therapy can be really, really helpful," y/n says to her.
Y/d/n finally looks up at us.
"Thank you," she says quietly.
Y/n stands up and walks over to her, sitting on the couch next to her. She wraps her arms around y/d/n, who melts into her touch.
"We love you," y/n whispers to her.
I want to join them, but I figure that this is a moment they need for themselves.
"I love you too," y/d/n whispers back.
"We can get through this," y/n assures her, squeezing her tighter.
I'm shopping for dorm room things and I'm so excited for college! where do you guys find cute affordable bedding? urban outfitters is great but also it's jussssst a lil too expensive.
also this is growing literally so fast and I love you guys so much like what it's insane to see the numbers grow!