Cracks

I'm here- Dylan's POV

Dylan's POV-

I stared at her hard as I helped her clean up the glass around her mother's room. I watched the way she did it with such practiced mannerisms and non-surprise. It was obvious that it was nothing new. It was obvious that she had gone through things like that on a regular basis. I knew, just from the way Presley had looked at her mom, she had been like that as long as she could remember.

It made me sick. It hurt thinking of the things that Presley had to go through all by herself. No one had ever been there for her. She had to take care of her mom and clean up the messes that she had left behind all by herself.

Now, she found out that even her own father chose to leave her. The man that gave her life and was supposed to help her through the ugly things just left her with a woman that obviously had some problems. He left Presley all on her own with her mother. I couldn't fathom what kind of man would condemn a child to a life of having to be the one to take care of their mother. Presley had been all alone her whole life trying to take care of an adult when she was supposed to be the one to be taken care of.

I was there now. I wasn't going to leave Presley alone in the mess that her mom had created for her. She wasn't alone anymore... I wasn't sure if I could take care of her exactly, but I'd sure as hell would not leave her.

As soon as we were done with the messes in her mom's room, we walked out of there to let her mom sleep off the copious amount of alcohol in her system. I watched Presley walk. Her shoulders were slumped, and her body was stiff. She was absolutely exhausted, and I just wanted to make her get into bed.

However, by the determined set of her jaw, I knew that was not going to happen. She needed answers, and she was going to find them.

"Thank you for helping me, Dilly. I guess I'll come by tomorrow to grab my stuff from your house," she told me softly.

"Number one, I'm not leaving you here by yourself tonight. Number two, I'll help you with whatever plan you have cooking up in your mind right now," I told her gently as I looked at her seriously. I was absolutely serious; I was not leaving her.

"Dyl..."

"Just let me help," I said. "I know that it's a conditioned response to not accept help due to the way you've grown up, but here I am... offering. Just let me help."

"I-I don't even know where I am going to start," she explained softly. "I don't have any friends or family that have that kind of money to loan me. I... I don't know what to do," she almost sobbed. "Then, on top of that, I have the whole extra layer of having a dad now-"

"What if we find your father?" I asked slowly. "You could ask him. He obviously has a job if he pays child support."

"Why would he help me? He just fucking left me here with that psychopath," she said bitterly.

"Maybe that's why he'd do it," I shrugged. "It couldn't hurt."

She nodded, "You're right. My mom keeps a box of important papers. Maybe we can find something with his name or something on it. We have to start somewhere. All I know is his last name is Anderson."

So, we sifted through the unorganized and completely random papers that were thrown into a shoe box for hours. It wasn't until there was a bit of sunlight poking through the dark sky that I found a paper from my father's old lawyer's office in the box that showed some promise.

"This is a child support agreement written up on behalf of a George Anderson," I told Presley gently.

Her bleary eyes met mine before she took the paper that I offered her and began reading the agreement for herself. "Twenty percent of his monthly income! We get over a thousand dollars a month, and that's only twenty percent of his income!" She exclaimed in disbelief. "Look at this date," she pointed out the date in late August. "I was barely a month old," she whispered.