first love never die

| Two • Leaving |

| Chapter Two ~ Leaving |

"Tommy, wake up," I heard my mother's voice call out softly, as she ran her fingers through my hair.

I mumbled something inaudible, but it must have been funny because she laughed.

"You were supposed to be up by seven," she said. "It's almost nine."

"I don't wanna get up," I said, turning on my stomach, and burying my head in my pillow, so as to drown her out.

"Well, you have to. Otherwise, you'll be late."

"I don't care if I'm late," I said, my voice muffled.

"Thomas." She tugged on the back of my T-shirt, not sounding mad, just serious.

I groaned. "Fine."

"I'll go make you some coffee while you pack, how's that?" She tried to bargain.

"Okay." I said, and before I could thank her for it, I heard yelling coming from three stories down.

"Tommy, come on! We're so fucking late!"

"Come," she said. "Ten minutes." Then she gave me a kiss on the back of my head, stood up and left.

I sat in bed, waiting for the room to stop spinning, and for my stomach to do the same, then slowly made my way to the bathroom, brushed my teeth and didn't dare look in the mirror. I'd gotten home at about...six am? And I felt it; with every bone in my body, I felt it. I was still a bit drunk, actually, but I soldiered on, grabbing my bag and throwing random shit inside it all the while ignoring the constant yelling that came from downstairs, like a countdown that though I'm pretty sure it was supposed to make me hurry the fuck up, just pissed me off and got me to do things slower than I was inclined to in the first place.

When I got to the kitchen, my coffee was waiting for me—a first in the House of Harts. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table reading, as usual. His brown hair popping up from behind the newspaper; a habit he'd tried to engrain in us just like his father had done to him, but of course it was to no avail because who even reads newspapers anymore? We hadn't been speaking for the past couple of months, ever since I had started going out more and dared voice that I wasn't too into the idea of going to the college or pursuing the degree that he had in mind. I was more than used to being ignored, though, and didn't really care, to be honest. Mom, however, was a pro at pretending everything was fine. After all, she had almost 25 years to learn how to do it.

It was weird. She watched me as I drank my coffee as quickly as possible, and when yet another
scream echoed through the entire floor along with every brain cell I had left, she looked at me and kindly said: "I think you better go, honey."

"Mm," I hummed. "If I don't I'm going to punch someone real soon."

She smiled, then gave me a hug. "You kids be careful, okay?"

"Will do," I said, but not before adding as I quickly grabbing my things and making my way to the front door: "great convo, dad. Love the heart-to-heart."

Once I got to the street, I knew full well I was due a scolding, though I can safely say I did not give a single fuck. I was too focused on the pounding in my head, which prevented me from actually being present.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Tommy? We agreed we'd leave by nine!"

"It's basically that." I quietly said, moving at the speed of a healthy eighty-five year old man and not really paying attention.

I threw my bag in the trunk, then got on the passenger's seat and closed the door.

"It's five past ten, by the way." He said with a huff, starting the car.