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🥘 twenty-four. running out of time .⊹ °ʚ☆ɞ°.⭒₊
SIX YEARS AGO.
There were no words to describe how proud Atticus Sinclair was of his daughter.
Even though she was eighteen years old, she was already so talented in her culinary skills and she could hardly fail, so he didn't worry about her. She was capable of handling herself. As Atticus drove, he looked over to find the passenger seat thankfully empty since his wife was probably hanging around with Donna Berzatto or drinking red wine while watching some sort of soap opera. It didn't matter though. Atticus was quiet as he navigated through the heavy, jam packed Chicago freeway, and he repeatedly flexed then unflexed his hand in order to pop the muscles in his calloused hands. He was worried because he knew that his daughter could never stay in one place and he worried Copenhagen would cause her to lose her mind.
Copenhagen was in Denmark and his daughter nor his wife knew a single word of the language. He was worried that his daughter's asthma might work up and cause her to have an asthma attack. So many worries stirred within him, but it was normal for him to worry. She was his only daughter after all.
The traffic was really bad and with Odessa sprawled out on the two seats in the back, Atticus was just worried about her missing her flight.
He sighed as he looked through the rear-view mirror to see the cars line up behind each other and he tried not to get angry when other cars randomly cut him off. Instead, Atticus inhaled sharply and he turned on the radio to distract him from the noises of the cars honking. Some sort of pop song from a washed up singer player on the radio and he pressed each button there was to change the song. Finally, he landed on a radio station that played somewhat calming, old music.
It was better than nothing.
Atticus impatiently tapped his foot against the mat of his car and he looked back at Odessa who was still peacefully sleeping. He wished that his wife was there to send off their daughter to some foreign place, but he was there for Odessa and to him, that's all that mattered.
He eyed the digital clock wearily. Her flight would be in a hour or two.
The greying brunet worked his jaw as he tried not to get worked over the traffic and with the flick of his hand, he listened to the blinked click until he swerved onto the other lane. Atticus looked over at Odessa who was still sleeping across the backseat and her skinny arm draped over her head.
One forty five.
Atticus huffed softly, working out the tense muscle in his shoulder and he quietly thanked god as he sped up when there was a chance. His fingers tightened on the leather steering wheel as his eyes sharply looked around and he didn't care if he was cutting off cars or swerving into the roads like crazy. He just needed to get out of this traffic because it felt like his stress levels were too high and the car felt as if it were overheating. Immediately, Atticus reached over to turn up the cold AC to cool himself and his blinker clicked again.
