~Cariño: A Quackbur Story~

~Broken Heart Shaped Sugar Cookies~

Relationships are like recipes.

I sat underneath a maple tree, my back flat against the coarse bark. The sun was setting, filling the park in an orangey glow. It was the beginning of February but the park seemed to be stuck in autumn, brown and orange crunchy leaves littered around the ground. It smelt strongly of spices and honey.

For the last couple of weeks, we've been meeting at this park. It was a pretty peaceful, reclusive area, mainly just a field with some trees and a couple of swings.
Clouds drifted in, big fluffy ones. I pouted as I spotted a cat playing with a ball in the clouds

Warmth settled on my face in the form of sunrays. I glanced around the park. He was no where in sight, which was unusual for him. Quackity was punctilious with time. He liked being early. So, why was he not here?

Something in the back of my mind itched. Something was wrong. Maybe it was something in the air, but the whole thing felt off. It was so unlike him.

I sighed, pushing myself off of the tree bark. I stood up, dusting off my pants. I had to get home before my mom got suspicious. It was getting too late.

I began my walk home in worry. Really, where was he?

Some recipes are sweet.

Some are sour.

I laid down in my bed, looking up at my ceiling, having a weird case of deja'vu.

It was quiet. My father wasn't home, which wasn't a surprise. My mother was busying her self with whatever wanted to keep her company.

The quiet wasn't calming. It was eerie, sickening.

It made my face pale. It made the moisture leave my lips and grow on my eyes.

I was worried.

A selfish type of worried.

Not really worried about Quackity and why he didn't show up today. Worried about my life. My mom finding out.

I mean, I was almost 18. I could survive. Keep quiet till my 18th birthday. Then leave.

I jumped, hearing a knock on my door.

"Yes? Who is it?" I whispered into the darkness of my room, the blackness swallowing my voice whole.

"Wilbur, honey." My mother's strained voice reverberated from across the room. It sounded soft, yet demanding. The nickname wasn't laced with care, but rather with poison.