STAND BY ME | SLASH

PROLOGUE

My stomach growled furiously for the eighth time tonight. Falling asleep on an empty stomach was a next to impossible task. Never again would I risk it. When it growled a ninth time I kicked off my covers and quietly stomped towards the door, the slippers I had quickly slipped on muffling most of the thuds and creaking.

Fuck it. I'm starving.

I quickly opened my door to avoid any slow creaking noises and crept as quietly as I could past both Cash's and Dad's and Meegan's rooms and down the stairs. I was honestly an idiot to think that lunch consisting of McDonald's and half a protein shake would fill me up for the rest of the day. Then again if I had eaten dinner I would have been forced to endure one of Meegan's weird vegan creations. I hate that stupid yellow soup she always makes. 

I was surprised to find the glow of the kitchen lights illuminating the stairs as I crept down but shrugged it off as someone simply forgetting to turn them off. I hadn't even bothered to notice another presence in the room when I opened the fridge to look for something that hadn't been contaminated by Meegan. Until I heard my name of course.

"London?"

I jumped and quickly shut the fridge door, wincing at the loud slam that followed. I turned to see Dad sitting in one of the dining room chairs. I really have no idea how I didn't notice him sitting there, but he's rather quiet for someone whose entire profession revolves around being loud.

"What the hell are you doing awake?" He asked, his voice low. "And be quiet, people are sleeping."

"I was hungry," I admitted before opening the fridge again and grabbing a container of Greek yogurt. Oikos lime Greek yogurt. My favourite. "What are you doing up?" I quizzed him as I walked toward the utensil drawer to grab a spoon.

Dad sighed before responding. "Just thinking. Grab a spoon and go to bed."

I stopped for a moment, my hand gripping the handle of the drawer but not opening it. Something felt... wrong. 

I would never consider my father to be a very emotional man, he was always affectionate towards the ones he loves, but his negative emotions were mostly expressed through his music, so you could imagine my surprise when I heard the pain in his breaking voice. Whatever he was thinking about had to be something really heavy.

I took a good look at Dad; he was slumped in his chair, head in his hand, staring down at what appeared to be a polaroid, and he wasn't wearing his shades which was unusual. I could see the fatigue and hurt in his eyes as he stared down at the picture. I'd never seen him look so miserable.

I set my yogurt down and slowly walked over to him, trying my best not to disturb him as I took a glance at the photo. It was of a young woman, probably only a couple of years older than me, wearing nothing but a silk black nightgown and Dad's hat, and probably the biggest, most genuine smile on her face. She was absolutely gorgeous. So... Why did he look so sad?

"Who's that?" I gently asked. He gripped the small photo tightly, the film crinkling under his firm grasp.

"Her name is Layla. She was an old friend of mine."