We Are The Kids Our Parents Warned Us About

We are the kids our parents warned us about (28)

Gone. That's where Dylan is. I expected to see him right through the door but he's just gone. I quickly turn into the left hallway before my mom decides to follow me and have another argument with me. In the middle of the hallway I see a wooden door barely opened. I slowly walk inside to see Dylan's back. He watches the fireplace as the orange flames flicker, growing and then shrinking.

I close the door behind me and walk up next to him. His hair is tousled and messy as he takes a swing from his flask. He looks tired. I feel tired. The rooms is small for a house this big. It has an octagon shape with velvet red walls, and a thin red carpet. Theres a miniature desk on the side of the room and one uncomfortable looking couch right behind us with two blankets on top. The rest of the room just has a few candles, books, expensive looking carpets.

"What took you so long?" He asks quietly.

I stare at the fire for a minute before I answer. "My mom. She's been getting on my nerves lately." I answer flatly. I sigh sadly, backing up a little and sitting down, leaning against the couch. He turns his head to me and joins me. I grab his flask and take a drink. The liquid burns my throat and I close my eyes trying to relax.

"What about your mom?" I ask dryly.

He gives the saddest most weakest chuckle I've ever heard. "I love her. I always took for granted the times we've spent and all the times she got on my nerves. I'll never get them back." He takes the flask and takes another swing.

"You'll get more of them." I reply taking a swing right after him.

"No," his voice breaks. "I won't." My eyes finally leave the fire and I turn over to him. His eyes are watery and I finally notice his face. It full of sadness and regret. He has heavy dark circles under his eyes, he looks dead.

"What are you talking about?" I whisper.

His eyes meet mine, his lips trembling as a tear runs down his face. "She's dying. She's going to die." I lose my breath and I suddenly wrap my arms around him. Immediately he starts crying, wrapping his arms around my waist as I hold him close. How long has he been baring this? How long has he known? Have I've been complaining about my mom when his was dying? Why have I've been such an idiot!

Something in my stomach twists as I hear him crying. I run my hands through his hair trying to comfort him. But I can't. All I can do is let him cry in my dress and hold him tight. I bury my face on the top of his head, letting a few tears leave my eyes.

He's lost so much, while I'm here complaining about something he wishes he had. While I talk about my problems and never about his. While I'm the broken one yet he's the one who needs saving.

I watch from the corner of my eye, the fire. As the seconds, minutes, hours go by the crying quiets down to a stop. I slowly grab the blanket from the couch and cover both of us with it.

We stay like that, his head still against my chest, my hand going through his hair, my dress still damp, all until sunrise. That's when I lose the battle, and fall asleep.