The Ties That Bind: Portrait Of An American Family

This Isn't Over

Chapter Nine

Cece

The night air clings to me like a second skin, heavy and warm, as I stand outside the house, staring up at the stars. The party inside is still going strong, laughter and music spilling out from the windows, but I feel disconnected from it all—like I'm watching from a distance, not really part of the celebration anymore.

I should be happy. I should be inside, surrounded by friends, soaking in the joy of the day. But I can't shake the feeling that something is slipping away, that everything I've worked for is on the verge of crumbling before my eyes.

Marilyn's been distant all night, avoiding me in ways that are subtle but unmistakable. He didn't stay for most of the party, didn't engage like the others did. And now, the weight of everything unsaid between us is pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.

I step away from the house, my feet moving on autopilot as I head toward the quiet side of the yard, away from the noise and the people. The shadows swallow me as I find a small bench tucked under the branches of a tree, the night sky open above me.

I sit down, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to find some semblance of comfort in the quiet. But all I can think about is Marilyn—the way he's been acting, the way he seems to be pulling away from me. I can feel the distance between us growing wider with every passing day, and I don't know how to bridge it.

The worst part is, I don't even know what I did wrong.

I hear footsteps behind me, soft but deliberate, and I know it's him before I even turn around. My heart skips a beat, a rush of emotions flooding through me—hope, fear, longing—all tangled together in a way that makes my chest ache.

He stops a few feet away from me, the tension between us palpable in the silence. For a moment, neither of us says anything, the weight of everything we're not saying hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

"Cece," he says finally, his voice low, almost hesitant. It's the way he says my name—like it's a warning, like he's preparing me for something I don't want to hear—that sends a chill down my spine.

I look up at him, searching his face for something—some sign, some clue to what's been going on inside his head. But his expression is guarded, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"You've been avoiding me," I say quietly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

He doesn't deny it. He just looks away, running a hand through his hair like he's trying to figure out how to say what's on his mind.

I wait, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath catching in my throat as the silence stretches between us. I want to reach out, to touch him, to make him understand that whatever it is he's struggling with, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere.

But I can't bring myself to move. I'm too afraid of what he'll say.

Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping just a little as if the weight of whatever he's been carrying is too much to bear. "This life... it's not easy, Cece," he begins, his voice rough. "It's not something I want for you."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I can't breathe. "What do you mean?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

He turns to face me, his expression serious, almost pained. "This world... the one I'm a part of, it's not something you should be mixed up in. You've got so much potential, so much ahead of you. You don't need to get dragged into all of this."

I shake my head, panic rising in my chest. "But I want to be a part of your world. I want to be there for you, just like you've been there for me."