Coco fanfic-To Be Forgotten

Confessions

  Hey guys, it's been a while, and I am so sorry. I really struggled with this chapter, mainly because I have multiple avenues that I want to go down for this story, and I have to pick ONE, but I think this is as good as I'm going to get this chapter. I wanted to say THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR COMMENTS!!! I absolutely loved them (especially yours EmilieProctor ;) ). I hope you enjoy, and be on the lookout for another update soon because I hope to post again next week! Hope you guys have a great Memorial Day weekend! And feel free to comment on any misspells or mistakes! 

Miguel's POV

I groaned, closing my eyes as I contemplated the two options. "I'll sleep here tonight. But do I have to go to dinner? I'm not even hungry."

Mi papá pursed his lips slightly, before smiling. "Tell you what. I'll let you eat anything you want, as long as we have it in our house. How does that sound?" He asked, placing his hands on his hips.

I squinted at him. "Anything? Anything at all?" I questioned, incredibly skeptical of his offer. "Even if I just want some pan dulce?"

He squinted right back at me, visibly thinking over his response. "I would like you to have something a bit more substantial than that, but if that is all you want, then that's fine for now." He paused, then added, "but only because you're not feeling well."

I blinked. 'It's like he thinks I'm a toddler who's only going to ask for ice cream, or something.'

"Papá, I'm fine. Seriously. But, I wouldn't mind some of the leftover rice? And maybe some water..." I trailed off, wincing slightly at the thought of eating at the dinner table again. All those eyes, and the questions, and Abuela—

"Can I just eat up here, though? Please? I just—I don't feel like being around everyone right now." I squeezed the edges of the folded up sweater to stop the trembling of my fingers from being quite so obvious.

'He may not agree with how Abuela acted, but how do I explain the way I tense up when she's near? How could I tell him that the thought of eating in the same room as her made my stomach roll over itself over and over?'

Mi padre must have still understood what I didn't say, because he stood for a moment staring at the scab on my face. When he finally answered with a hard nod, I wasn't sure if I felt better or worse for having gotten my way. I didn't want him to think badly of Abuela, or to be the reason they were fighting, but I also felt so much relief knowing I wouldn't have to eat with her staring me down.

Maybe my shoulders drooping was a bit too obvious, because mi papá grimaced, sighing heavily. Leaning forward, he put both hands on either side of my face, before looking me square in the eyes. "I promise you, Mijo. As long as I am there, Abuela will never hurt you again. Never." He repeated emphatically, tugging me into a hug. He ran one of his hands gently through my hair, while his other lay on my back, holding me close to his chest.

Breathing in deeply, I forced myself to relax, letting go of all of the anxious tension I hadn't even noticed until now. I would never admit it out loud, but the hugs did help remind me that I wasn't alone, and that I was safe. And despite my anger at being treated like a kid half my age, I could reluctantly admit to myself that they felt good. The hugs from my dead relatives were nice, and I was grateful for them, but they were...different; being hugged by someone alive, someone who was full of warmth, and had a strong, steady heartbeat to listen to...well. It was just—better. Even if I felt a little awful for making the comparison, when my dead relatives had, overall, been much nicer.

I waited for him to pull away for what seemed like forever. I knew the feeling of time dragging by wasn't only in my head, because I could see how less and less of the sun's light filtered into the room. I even started counting the seconds mentally at one point, but gave up after around six minutes.