Hold On To Me || Kirk Hammett

Part 7- Back To My Roots

Savannah's POV

On the darkest days, you have to search for a spot of brightness, on the coldest days you have to seek out a spot of warmth; on the bleakest days you have to keep your eyes onward and upward and on the saddest days you have to leave them open to let them cry. Let them dry. To give them a chance to wash out the pain to see fresh and clear once again.

"So, are you ready to meet Daddy, dearest?" Neil poked, a smug look written across his face.

"Are we ever?" I sighed, jumping onto the counter and swinging my legs back and forth.

Our flight was ready to leave in two hours, back to my wretched little house I used to call home. It wasn't glamorous, like the 'house' I currently lived in. Instead, it had 3 cramped bedrooms, a living room with barely any space to walk, and a small kitchen with a large table jammed in the center.

The tiles were old and stained, the asbestos roof was cracked, and water leaked when it rained. The walls were white but instead were smudged all different colors, sometimes what I assumed was blood staining the walls. The paint was cracked, revealing the grey plaster underneath.

I've never seen my father's room, only glimpses when I was fortunate enough. I remember thousands of guns covering his walls, from revolvers to shotguns to rifles. When he was drunk enough, I saw a little of his collection because he used to throw bullets and threaten me with his handguns. My sister used to say he owned an AK 47- but I merely brushed it off as her delusions.

Delusions. My childhood seemed like a delusion. A mere fantasy from a fairytale. The abuse. And the fights. And the gaslighting. And the alcohol. And the drugs. And darkness. Pitch-black darkness.

"Sav, Loverboy's at the door."

I snapped toward his direction, cocking my head to the side, "What?"

He merely smirked as I jumped to my feet. My heart raced as I opened the door.

And all the air whooshed out of my lungs.

Thick red hair, brown eyes, and a black shirt enhanced his ruggedly masculine charm. His presence swallowed every molecule of oxygen in the room like a black hole consuming a newborn star.

There were generically good-looking men, and there was him.

My heart sank beneath the weight of my shock. Impossible. This had to be a joke.

"Hi, sweetheart." He smiled, inching closer to me.

I shook myself out of my stupor and summoned a strained but polite smile, "Dave...Hi. Uhm, come in."

"Oh, are you going somewhere?" He asked, gesturing to our bags lined up against the wall.

I nodded my head and folded my arms, shifting my weight from one leg to the other. 

A million and one things were running through my head, clashing against each other, banging in unbearable pain, and my head spinning in circles. Why was he here? I assumed things between us were over, he had no reason to come over.

I caught myself staring at him. I couldn't believe he was right here, right before my eyes. All 6 feet of him, and I'm drowning in memories and feelings I've made every effort to forget. I'm trying to remember why I broke up with him. Why I ever told him we couldn't be together? Why I would ever keep myself from a chance to marry him?

 "Dave—what's wrong? Did something happen?" I asked.

And his eyes were immediately different, uncomfortable, closed off  "You're worried about me." he blew out a hard breath, running a hand through his hair.