Daughter of Swift + Bk 4 (Haylor&DustinFF) (Completed)

Chapter 8 ~ Feeling is Believing - Believing is Seeing

Bec’s POV:

My mobile is ringing and Terry looks at me. Personally unsure what I’ll do. Do I answer? Do I ignore?

Terry eyes burn into me, as well as his thoughts on Darcy. Let her solve her own problems he’s told me, but I like Darcy, I want Darcy to be my friend for as long as possible, I don’t want this for us, as friends. She’s got Justin, Terry reminds me, but I’m still worried, I’m suppose to be there for her, I’m her friend, and I don’t even deserve her, I don’t deserve this pressure, and she doesn’t deserve this treatment. The mobile stops ringing I feel nervous. I let it ring out, I didn’t answer, what sort of a friend could I be? To scared to have a fight? To scared to speak to the truth? Her drinking needs to stop, I know it, but why can’t I tell her that, tell her that I also want to be beside her through her recovery, I want to help her.

Terry comes to comfort me, I don’t want it though, I want to do things I’m scared of, I can’t confront Darcy, I’d risk losing our friendship, but right now I’m risk losing it all.

I find myself pacing long after Terry’s left. I find the mobile in my hand and my finger resting on the green button. I dare myself to push it, I press myself to hold my finger down. I feel like I child going behind the back of a mother, a father, a trusted family member. But I’m not a kid I realise, I’m nearly twenty five. I can make choices, I made bad choices, and I’ve made good choices. I press the phone to my ear my whole body is trembling. The ringing tones rings in my ear, clear, sharp and painfully. The phone rings out, my heart falls. The ringing noise continues long after its stopped, ringing in my head, a distress call, a cry for help. A cry I didn’t answer.

Justin’s POV:

I make my way to Darcy’s, Mum corners me this time on my way out.

“You seeing a friend?” she enquires.

It takes me a minute to think up an answer, I don’t see Darcy as a friend, or just a friend, or an old friend, ex friend. But it’s all to complicated to explain as well as to understand.

“Yea” I tell Mum.

Mum scans me over, up, down, back, forth, left right.

“Take a sit,” she orders, indirectly.

I swallow; I glance at the clock on the wall, 8:45. Sitting down means I’ll be late.

I find a sit and wait for Mum to begin.

“Who is your friend?” she asks.

“A girl” I say.

“Not Bert then?” she asks.

I shake my head “We are not mates any more”

“I’m relieved,” she tells me “now about this girl who is she?”

I was lucky never having to tell my parents the incident that occurred at High school, I was a B student, so my suspension sparked suspicion, but not enough to call the office, the principle, the teachers or Bert himself. Mum and Dad knew I hanged with Bert, they were not fond of Bert, of his mother, “How can a social worker raise such a son?” Mum wound question me. I would always stick up for Bert, cover his tracks, it was a one way street though, he never covered mine. He’d mess up, I’d stick up, I’d miss up, and he’d push me down.

I swallowed. I was twenty four, and I felt four. I felt like I didn’t need to answer my social life wasn’t the business of my parents any more. Back in the young days, my brother would have his girlfriend over, no one asked her questions or him, they’d cut him slack, ease of him, he always did it tough he’d complain. But he didn’t, he’d get C’s or F’s he wouldn’t be punished, grounded or sentenced to chores.