Boy Who Has Everything

7 (draft - unrevised)

A groan escaped your lips as you shut the front door of your dad's house closed. You walked to the livingroom, and like any logical person would, you fell face first on the couch, groaning into the cushions. The feelings that you had brewing in your mind eventually consumed you on your way home. What can you say? The mind wanders.

"Oh, you're back already." Chimed in your father's voice. You chuckled into the cushions, finding it a bit amusing about how he seemed to find your current mood as normal. At least normal enough not to mention it. "Did you find what you were looking for?" He asked.

Without lifting your head from the cushions. you let out a muffled "mm-hm"as you raised your hand that held the brown paper  bag that contained all the paints you purchased earlier this morning. Letting your hand fall limp back to the rug below, you let out another dramatic groan in hopes of your father asking you what was up with you. You kind of wanted to get the weight off of your chest.

The weight of seeing the prescribed pills on Mrs. Fletchers counter and the weight of embarrassing yourself in front of a cute boy. You're father let out a sigh as he finally caught onto what you were trying to rope him into.

"What happened?" He asked. You situated yourself up from laying face-first on the couch, now in an upright position as you reclined on the back rest.

"Do you want the bad news or the worse news?" You asked. Your father let out a chuckle.

"Go head. Humor me." He told you as he sat down right next to you, his hands clasped together comfortably as he hunched over, his elbows on his knees keeping him upright. "Bad news first, I guess."

"Okay, uh, so there might've been a boy who just so happens to be really cute who I bumped into." As you began to speak. your father's eyebrows perked in interest. You had never brought up boys with him before. "And he helped me off the floor and... yeah. It was just embarrassing, really."

"Hmm." Your father hummed in thought. He decided to do the parental requirement of teasing you for taking interest in a boy. "So, boys, huh?"

With the smack of your lips, an annoyed scoff errose from your throat as you lightly shoved your father by knocking your shoulder into his. A small chuckle bubbled up from him as he smiled smugly. "What? Am I not allowed to think he was pretty?" You asked in a tone that was heavily laced with humor and sarcasm.

"No, no. I'm just joking." Replied father as he trailed off. However, he quickly found and gathered his words again. "So, what's the young man look like? He's your age right?" Asked your father as he spoke up.

A soft hum of a chuckle left your lips as you thought of his stupid sorry face. He really was pretty, though. "Yeah he's my age. Like sixteen - seventeen?" You replied.

"Gosh, your sixteen already? Time passed quicker than I thought." Father thought out loud. You blinked at him with a blank expression. "Sorry, continue. He wasn't taller than me, was he?"

"Yeah, he was. Sorry if it hurts your little ego or whatever, but he was like a little taller than six feet, I'd day." You told your father. He let air forcefully escape his lips. "He has blonde hair and blue eyes-"

"Wow, he's the perfect guy, huh?" Your father replied, chuckling at the description. "Tall, blonde, blue eyed."

"Perfect? Please, he had the posture of a fetus in the womb." You half-joked, earning a hearty laugh from your father. "He must be a gamer or something."

"Maybe." Your father replied before deciding to change the subject. "Hey, do you want something to eat? I made lunch."

"Lunch already? Gosh, what time is it?" You asked reaching for your phone on your back pocket of your jeans. Slipping it out of the pocket, you turned it on and saw the time. It was noon.

To your father time seemed to be moving quickly, but to you, it moved just as slow as it always has. However, you noticed how every year you grew older, the year seemed to feel shorter. Maybe your father was onto something. Swatting the thoughts away. you decided to go wash your hands for lunch, but first you needed to put your paints in your room.

"I'll eat in a second, I haven't told you the worse news yet!" You said, nagging your father. You knew he justed wanted to eat food. but you loved to annoy him.

"Alright, hurry then." He replied.

"So, um, I think Mrs. Fletcher may be sick." You told him in a softer and more serious voice than before. "I saw bottles of pills in her store."

"(Y/n)." Your father said softly. "Um, Mrs. Fletcher, she - when you were in New York, she got lung cancer." He told you.

"What?" You asked as your heart dropped. Those damn cigarettes. "Is she okay?"

"She told me they caught it early, but still, with her age, I fear the worst." Mumbled your father. "All we can do is hope her medicine and treatments work."

"God, I just - why didn't she tell me?" You asked, struggling to speak in coherent sentences.

"She didn't want you to worry about her. She knows how much she means to you. Telling people can be scary too, y'know." Said your father. "Don't tell her I told you. Pretend like everything is just fine, alright?"

You went quiet as your grip clenched on the brown bag with the bottles of paint. The ones you bought from her. It hurt to think about her suffering. No matter how much it hurt that she didn't tell you herself nor wanted to, you didn't let it get to you. This was about her, not you.

"I gotta go put my paints away." You mumbled out breathily.