𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 ⌖ 𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘨𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴

To the Badlands

"To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves."
— Federico García Lorca
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- Dakota's POV -

Despite the warm golden light dancing through the window, I embrace the cool air on the apartment terrace, separate from my aunt's family dinner. Their chipper conversations are rather grating and the quiet evening feels significantly better. Anything's better than feeling like an outsider peering in from the shadows.

Hugging my chest, I glance at the glass railing and see my Dad, who's just come back from another trip. Unsurprisingly, immediately after he arrived he relayed how his visit was going to be brief. Upon hearing the news, I instantly recoiled from him and gave him the silent treatment. That was until the longing to speak to him overpowered my grudge and I came outside in search of him. He slipped out earlier that evening —lighter in hand—and there he is, still smoking, with a mounting pile of cigarettes in the ashtray beside him.

Noticing my presence, he looks over his shoulder and a hint of shock gleams in his eyes. "I thought you weren't talking to me," he rasps bitterly, exhaling a plume of fog. I shrug, shoving my hands into my jean pockets.

"I wasn't," I admit, barely above a whisper. "But I can't be mad at you forever." He replies by nodding once, then brings two fingers to his lips to take another drag.

"I know it's hard," he mused. "I wish I could stay longer."

The silence stretches between us and I want to tell him how much I missed him, how hard it was to see him go —like it will be this coming time. But the words get stuck in my throat, jumbled within my emotions. Instead, I move closer to him, leaning against the railing, watching the vapour coil away from him into the night sky. He peeks at me with a faint smile and glossy eyes. I step right beside him and he reaches out to ruffle my hair. "I'm here now," he states, "Let's make the most of it."

With that, I seize the opportunity to capture every one of his features, illuminated by the muted glow of the porch light and his shortening cig. For now, I decide, this is enough.

As the sun descends behind the hills, an arbitrary question flashes through my mind. "Why did you become a Marine?" I ask, curious for many unspoken reasons. He exhales before sitting on a nearby bench, leaning back with a thoughtful expression.

"At first, it was about escaping," he begins. "Your grand-dad wanted me to be more mature —like your Uncle Hershel —his the golden child," Dad sighs heavily. "So I ran from his endless comparisons." He pauses, his stare becoming distant as if he's looking back in time. "But after a while, I stopped running." He smiles humbly as he continues, "I started to put other's needs above my own; Learned to serve, protect, and sacrifice."

I keep quiet and nod, silently absorbing his words, though I wonder: 'What about my needs?'

The thought lingers but I don't voice it, rather, I try to understand his. I feel Dad's gaze focus on me. "Sometimes, the grounds we first tread on turn into something else along the way. And that's fine, as long as ya got purpose."

I feel a combination of admiration and a trace of sadness. He's offering me a glimpse into his world and I can't help but respect him for that, regardless of that dwindling thought.

"What a load of shit," I tease with a smirk, making him erupt into a fit of laughter.

"Watch your mouth kiddo," he taunts, pressing his dying cig into the ashtray.