𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲 (𝚂𝚊𝚕 𝙵𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚛)

Exchange of Hearts {Twenty-Five}

"And I won't suppose to know
why you walked away..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Your dad here?" I ask, lifting my chin and crossing my arms over my chest. The rage I feel is insane. Yea, I may love this guy but I can't keep up with all of this bullshit. Sal says he's giving me time and space to work things out, to forgive him, then he gets angry at me for petty things and kisses me.

I'm tired. I am mentally exhausted and no one around here seems to understand that.

"No," Sal replies softly, shutting his front door and turning to me with that sad, guilty expression. He runs a hand through his gorgeous hair and sighs. "He's been... he's working."

Oh.

My harshness lessens up a bit and I shift my weight to my opposite foot, abandoning the glare I've had for five straight minutes. "Okay," I say evenly. "Let's talk."

I should be tough on him because he's dragging me in an endless zigzagging maze that doesn't seem to have an end. I need to solidify some things and that's mighty hard to do with our current situation. But it's clear that he may be overwhelmed due to things that are out of his control and for that, I can't just yell at him like he doesn't have his own issues.

We're all a little fucked up.

Sal lifts his head, lips pulled in a small frown as he just watches me. It's like his eyes copy every single inch of my face to memory. The thought of his gaze on me is invigorating enough, but actually witnessing his nearly translucent, sky blue eyes roam over me like I'm the centerpiece of something of the likes of Versailles castle makes me feel so warm. I feel important. I feel seen when everyone else just looks.

He makes me feel different. A good different.

"I'm sorry," he breathes out, his voice failing on him. Sal knows things aren't going well in the midst of this healing process. "I shouldn't have done any of what I did today. You shouldn't have had to put up with my bad decisions." He pauses, looking down at his feet. "The consequences of my actions are mine to bear. You shouldn't have to stick around for the ride."

I uncross my arms, adopting a small, pitying frown of my own. And I know that Sal hates pity more than anything, but I know what he's feeling. The weight of not having his mother around is something on its own, but his father isn't emotionally available either. I know what that's like on both ends.

"Sal, let's talk. Not about today, about you," I gently say, relaxing my tense stance and taking a step closer to him. "Your actions are always forgivable. I don't want to live in a world of hate, especially when despite everything that's happened, I still care for you."

He looks up at me again. He looks so sad, reluctant, vulnerable, and regretful. But he wants to talk. His face says it all; he's carrying far too much for one body and one mind.

I hold my hand out to him, a silent offer that he immediately accepts. His warm fingers thread through mine, holding on firmly as I lead him over to the couch.

"Talk to me," I whisper, pulling him down to the couch with me. I sit criss-crossed, facing him. Sal does the same, looking down at our joined hands. I run the tips of my fingers over the palms of his hands that are covered in callouses from all the time he spends playing his guitar. I run them over the tips of his fingers and his chipped nail polish, the insides of his wrist, his bracelets, rings, the backs of his hands. And he just watches until he finds the courage to speak.

"Dad's been worse lately and I don't know why. All I know is that... he's hardly ever here and when he is, he's passed out. I know he loves me, but he doesn't love himself. Having to watch someone crumble in front of you, knowing there's nothing you can do about it... that hurts, you know. And then there's this whole thing with you," He pauses, putting his hand on top of mine to stop them from moving. In place of my hands, he starts absentmindedly drawing patterns onto my palms. "I know we've talked about it already, but you haven't forgiven me and I haven't forgiven myself."