VIERNES
8:01 PM
Reid Harlow
There's apparently a tradition every Friday.
It's a family dinner.
Of course, I wouldn't have known about it, speaking since I've only been here for about a week, but a little notice would've been nice. Instead, on the very afternoon, as I was planning to sneak out to the park to steal a smoke—Presley stops me and tells me we're having dinner.
No arguments.
No getting out of it.
So, here I was. Sitting at the dining table, awkward as hell, as two additional members of the family filled in the seats. Sebastian Godfrey, the patriarch of the house, and Claudia Campbell, the eldest.
I've met Sebastian before, on the very first night when I was issued into this home. However, I haven't seen him much after—having always been told that he was off to the office where he works as a justice lawyer and always coming home late or when I'm not here.
Claudia Campbell, however, is a different story.
She was in grad school, a couple of states away. At the age of twenty-four, she's seeking to become a therapist. I haven't heard many details about her—not caring enough to ask—but from what I'm told, Claudia reigned the top of her class for the majority of her high school career and she continues to hold that title progressing into university.
Six different people. Six different personalities. All somehow ended up at the same place, at the same time.
And they aren't awkward.
The clank of the fork to china was my progressive noise, while the rest of the room was filled with a choir of laughter. Sebastian tells an office story about his time interning at Montgomery & Associates. It was supposedly funny, but I didn't get it. I don't see the point.
I could be out there, grabbing a smoke, instead of being here, feeling more suffocated than ever before.
My leg unconsciously bounces underneath the table. My blue eyes stealing glances at the clock, watching as the hands go round and round. No one seems to notice my eagerness to move from this spot, to leave.
Except for Nico, who sits on my right.
His chair scooted closer to the table, his hands playing with the silverware but he made no effort to eat. Like me. He glances down at my leg a couple of times—which causes me to stop—and returns to meet my gaze. Just a second.
He says nothing.
"Nico," I hear Nini call, causing the green-eyed boy to look away and turn to our foster mother. She meets his gaze in a soft, maternal look and begins to speak in a foreign language. He nods, showing signs that he understood, but I was left clueless on my end. What she spoke, I didn't know, but I'm willing to bet it was Spanish.
"So, Harlow," I hear another girl perk, her voice lower than average. I look up to meet Claudia's brown gaze. She was the only other white person in the room, which didn't ease the tension, but definitely helped me feel like I'm not the only one. She has dark brown hair, styled in a bob, sharp brown eyes and a calculated gaze. "How are you liking it here?"
The entire table turned.
I felt multicolored gazes settle on me, causing me to shift uncomfortably at the intense stare. I almost swore at the fact that Claudia brought me into the conversation—to which I was perfectly happy staying away from—but I held down my tongue.
I can't swear in front of children.
"It's a house," I offer, holding out my hand to demonstrate the home. "It's four walls, a door and a couple of windows. Nothing special about it."
My voice was laced with sharpness, not allowing them to entertain the idea that I could be happy here. That I could fit in. I may have been the last one to settle in the seat—the last seat available—and we could've looked like a picture-perfect big family, but that's not the case for me.
Despite this, Claudia merely smiles. I can't quite tell if she's trying to force it upon herself—probably is—but she doesn't look hurt by my words. "Okay." She nods, "Um, Harlow," she glances around the table, checking to see if she got the name right, "where are you from?"
I clutch the fork in my hands. "Here." I answer simply, glancing down at the plate of spaghetti Sebastian made. I took a couple of bites and it's good, but I would never admit it to his face.
"That's, um, that's vague, but okay," Claudia said, nodding to herself. I check to see if she's going to stop this, but she only proceeded. "How long have you been in the system?"
I slam the fork to the plate, causing a loud clank to acknowledge the room. I look straight into Claudia's eyes. "Why does it matter?"
Claudia looks taken back, and so did Presley, who sits right beside her and in front of me. I stare at her in a challenge that told her to back down, and back down now. I don't want to tell her anything about myself. It's already bad enough that Nini and Sebastian have that privilege of going through my files—but these people?
Fuck no.
Yet, in an (irritating) surprise, Claudia stood her ground. She straightens up her back, her gaze facing me with fire. She isn't afraid. "I'm not trying to be a bitch—excuse my language—and I was merely asking a question. It was just small talk."
"I don't want small talk," I grit my teeth, my gaze penetrating Claudia. I don't back down. "I just want to eat in silence, and leave this place. Is that too much to ask?"
"That's it?" Claudia asks, a brow cocked in her direction. I don't understand her question. She elaborates. "That's all you look for in life? To live in silence and leave? Where? Where are you going? What are you doing afterwards? What are your dreams?"
I clench down my jaw, but don't reply. Because, truth be told, I don't have an answer. I don't think that far off in the future. I don't plan. I just want to live life day-by-day without interference. Without worrying about making relationships and forging families.
Because at the end of the day, you are all you need.
"I'm not your patient," I spat, pushing my chair back as I stood up. Claudia follows my gaze. "I don't need you to give me a prescription or write down my traumas. I am fine. You don't need to worry about me. It's not like you're my real family. You don't need to keep pretending."
I waited a moment for a response. Yet, Claudia never gave me what I wanted. I took this as the notice and to step out, leaving the dining room and head up to my room.
The moment the door closes behind me, I bite the inside of my cheek. My thoughts begin to process and unravel like a ball of yarn. It was messy, and intangible, and I hated it. I would never admit it but Claudia's words caught me by surprise.
Where are you going? What are you doing afterwards? What are your dreams?
Both my hands came to my head, running them through my hair as I try to shake out the voice. But, it's hard. It's hard to block something out when it's coming from inside, and it's hard to comprehend pain when what you feel isn't physical. It's internal.
It's bleeding, but your body is supposed to be made of blood.
The door swings open, and I drop both my hands to the mattress.
Presley walks in, his face etched with complete seriousness as he looks at me. There's no loop for humor, or a joke to slice the atmosphere. He was looking at me, with this blank stare that almost looks daunting.
Almost looks like me.
He comes around, taking a seat beside me on the mattress. "That was a really shitty thing to say."
I clench my fists, trying hard not to show my irritation. I know it was a shitty thing to say. That's why I said it.
"You left the family quiet after you left,"
"Well, it's not my family to worry about."
I almost wince at the words I spit, but it was the truth and I couldn't hold in my honesty. I know family, I know family is supposed to hold a deep line of integrity—but why is that the case? Why does blood or a relationship in name demonstrate unwavering loyalty?
Why didn't mine have that?
"It's not your family, sure," Presley chooses his words carefully, hesitating with each emphasis. "But to them, to Claudia, Ariah, Nico and hell, even me? That's my family. That's my support system."
I don't get it. I'll never will. I don't find it enjoyable to leave your support in other people's hands. I don't find it smart to let yourself depend on others. It's vulnerable. It's stupid. It leaves you wounded.
I know, I've been there.
"They're not your blood, Presley," my gaze shifted to the floor of the room, the glazed wooden planks measures the ground, the bind of glue. "There's nothing more than strangers you formed relationships with."
"Why don't you want one?" Presley asks, and I feel his gaze moving to meet my face. I could feel his stare on my side. "Why don't you let anyone in?"
Because I was hurt.
I was hurt by the one person that I had.
I was hurt and I don't ever want to feel that pain again.
"Why do you want people in, in the first place?"
I feel the bed shift, and I feel Presley move back, stretching. "People are a source of happiness. It may sound dumb—to depend on something you could give yourself—but no matter how your life goes, if you don't have at least one person by your side—it's lonely. It's isolating." Presley draws in a deep breath. "People need people."
I shake my head, no longer able to take it.
I stood up from my bed, letting him take over my one place in sanction. I look to the desk, where the trash bag still lingers with my things and I walk over, pulling out the nearly-emptied cigarette box.
I shove it into my pocket and look back at Presley.
"I don't need anyone." I declare, heading out for the door as I descend back down the steps, going straight for the front.
The door creaks at my leave and I slam it closed, shuffling down the deck and towards the sidewalk—towards the direction of the park.
I don't know if the girl is going to be there, but I didn't care enough to consider the possibility if she was.
I head down the shivering weather, a mere jacket on my back and took the empty bench.
She wasn't here.
But it didn't matter.
I take out a cigarette and cup my hand around my mouth, blocking the wind of the weather.
A lighter in my hand, and a couple of flickers commerce before a yellow-orange glow that frames the dark night and lights the cigarette.
I inhale.
I exhale.
I take the cigarette from my lips and look around my surroundings. Dark, isolating, and a heavy gloom forms the atmosphere.
It's fine.
It's perfect.
I. Don't. Need. Anyone.
━━━━━
AVA'S NOTES
i'm writing and all i can think about is that this is a slow-burn. i really, real slow burn. fleshing out the characters will always come first priority to me, and that's the reason why the beginning drags. just please bare with me!!
please vote and comment!!