What Hurts The Most [Austin Mahone Fan Fiction]

What Hurts The Most: Number 6

What Hurts The Most: Number 6

           

            I wasn’t in the brightest mood the next morning; everything was drilled in my brain: my mom is pregnant, I have to drop out of school, oh, and today I had to spend my afternoon with Austin.

            I mean, I shouldn’t be too harsh on him, I think he had a little crush on me, so I should be proud of that and enjoy it while I can; I’m not really forward with guys at all, and having guy friends didn’t help me at all, but I think with Austin, I might get out of my shell and just tell him everything. The rudeness, the daydreaming, the dreams, I mean everything.

            Logan wasn’t too happy of my mom and dad going away on a cruise, they only had one week and a half left, so I’m going to guess from here until they leave is going to be running around the house, weird cravings, and chores that I’m going to have to do for two-three months. He wasn’t really close to my dad, and he really wants to get close to him; I feel so bad for him, though. He thinks dad doesn’t hang out with him a lot just because he has down-syndrome and it does hurt me.

            Robert offered me to sleep with him, and no not in that way, and I accepted; even though I was older, I felt like his younger sister, he would always take care of me, and he’s been doing that since we were three. Whenever I was upset, he would either sleep with me or made me sleep with him. Last night, I and he talked about what was bothering me, which was pretty much everything.

            “Good morning,” Robert said with cereal in his mouth; Logan was still sleeping and both of my parents were in the kitchen.

            “Nothing good about this morning,” I sighed, sitting next to him, resting my head on his right shoulder. “My neck hurts like crazy and so many blankets were on top of me, Robert, do you seriously keep these many blankets in your room?”

            He shrugged, sliding a plate with a sandwich on it, and a glass of milk. My parents remained silent, not really knowing what to say.

            “So,” my mom said, “Santana is safe to come home; I’m going to pick her up at noon, so you guys don’t have to pick her up after school.”

            “Okay,” I mumbled, eating another piece of my jelly and butter-with-sugar sandwich.

            “You aren’t mad, Claire, are you?” my dad asked, drinking the water in front of him.

            “No, I’m not,” I shrugged, my parents letting out a gasp/yawn. “But I am very disappointed in you guys.”

            “Ma’am yes, ma’am.” My dad said.