We Haven't Talked In Forever. (H.S)

Chapter 1: I Swear

For what seems like the tenth time this month, I'm woken up by lighting striking outside. It's been really rainy lately.

I stare at the clock on my nightstand. 6:18. It's too early to wake up.

I lay back down and try to fall asleep to the sound of the rain, but there's to much thunder. Might as well get up.

I grab my blanket and walk down the cold hallway to my mom's room, opening the door a crack. She's still sleeping.

I sigh. I wish I could sleep like that.

I make my way down the stairs, walking on my tiptoes so Mom doesn't wake up. She wouldn't want me to wake her up this early.

I used to get in trouble for doing that. Especially with Harry always sleeping late because of his crazy schedule. Once I got up at 5 and tried to make my own breakfast, waking him up in the process, and he came into the kitchen and yelled at me for five minutes, which made him and Mom start fighting because, not only did he wake her up, she didn't like him telling at me like that. That was one of their last fights before they told me they were getting a divorce.

Sometimes I wonder if it was all my fault. If I hadn't done some of the things that made them angry, would they still be married? Would I still be able to call Harry my father?

I put a piece of toast in the toaster as quietly as I can. Maybe it was mostly my fault. They always promised that it wasn't my fault, but they were wrong. It was my fault, I decide.

I go into the living room and turn on the TV. The only thing on at this hour is SpongeBob. I've seen this episode a million times. Actually, I've seen every episode a million times.

I go back into the kitchen and wait for my toast to pop out of the toaster. I couldn't concentrate on the TV anyway.

Harry used to make me toast every morning. He'd add butter and jelly to it and I'd always thank him. When he felt like it, he'd wake up early and surprise me with pancakes when I woke up.

But that was years ago.

The toast pops out, and I jump. It gets me every time.

I take it into the living room and eat it plain. Soon, I make another price of toast and the show is over. I look at the clock on the wall. It's 6:30. Still raining.

Someone knocking on the door almost makes me choke on my piece of toast. Nobody ever comes over, especially not at this time and weather.

I comb my hair with my fingers and wrap myself in my blanket. Hopefully I don't look like a zombie.

I open the door, prepared to day that either my mom isn't awake or they're at the wrong house.

Instead, I just stare.

"Ha- Dad," I say quietly. I don't think he'd like it if I called him Harry.

"Darcy," he says, just as surprised as I am.

"Mom– I– we weren't, uh, expecting you."

"I know," he invites himself in and just takes off his shoes.

"She– Mom doesn't– she doesn't like it when —"