Leaves, Seasons, and Dead Trees (BxB)

15. - Moving Forward, Looking Backward

"But I'd whisper that I love this man
Now and for forever to your soul as it floats out of the window
To the world that you turned your back on
To the world that never really let you be"

- "Blackberry Stone" by Laura Marling -

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⚠️TW: blood, violence, realistic portrayal of IED

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Tyson

It's been nearly three weeks since Stacy took refuge with me, and my parents have been increasingly on edge. However, Stacy and I devised a strategy: she feigns ongoing communication with me from "somewhere", and I regularly share screenshots of our chats with my parents. This ruse averts the need for them to report her missing, sparing us all from police involvement and any intervention from Stacy's school. Yet, it's apparent that my parents remain unconvinced of Stacy's safety.

Strangely enough, I find myself oddly drawn to the disruption Stacy's rebellious streak brings to our family dynamic.

In the wake of their previous oversight of Stacy's well-being, my parents have shown a newfound receptivity toward her now that she's "missing". Even Stacy has begun to engage with them through messaging little by little, assuring them of her welfare.

While they may not always see eye to eye, I'm grateful they never skimp their parental duties. Their willingness to set aside their ego for the sake of Stacy's safety speaks volumes. Consequently, with Stacy's recent warmth following the end of her period, I propose she join me tonight at the stadium to watch me practice, offering her a welcome diversion where she doesn't have to be cooped up alone in my apartment.

Initially, Stacy wishes to explore the city's nightlife, hoping to capture some snapshots with her phone (since she forgot to bring her camera). However, her paranoia kicks in, dissuading her from venturing out as she frets over potential muggings or other misfortunes.

Or, alternatively, perhaps she simply yearns to spend time with her brother but is hesitant to admit it openly.

Whatever the underlying reason is, Stacy's demeanor has softened lately. She even now willingly occupies the shotgun seat, instead of sulking in the middle seat. Still, though Coach Fullard just invited her to observe our practice from the dugout, Stacy declined, opting for a seat in the stands instead. Her decision leaves me grappling with her inner workings. It's as if she grants me fleeting glimpses into herself, only to snatch them away when I draw near.

As my teammates and I engage in rigorous drills on the field, my attention strays to Stacy seated in the stands. Engrossed in her phone yet occasionally casting glances our way, a faint smile graces her lips when she sees me staring at her.

Yet, I can't help but ask myself: is she truly finding solace in this respite from her troubles, or is she merely donning a facade to allay my concerns? The uncertainty gnaws at me, distracting me from the practice as I grapple with the truth behind her facade.

During a water break, I seize the opportunity to approach Stacy. As I draw near, she looks up, her eyes lighting up at the sight of me. "Hey, Ty," she greets me, slipping her phone away. "How's practice?"

"It's going well," I respond with a smile, settling beside her. "But I'm more interested in how you're doing, Stace. You're acting... different lately."

A fleeting flicker of apprehension crosses Stacy's features before she masks it with a casual shrug. "I guess I'm just not... moody anymore, you know?"

"If you say so. But you can be straight with me, you know?" I say gently, probing her eyes for any glimmer of truth.