Dakota

Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Noah's P.O.V

Sitting on the roof of Dakota's house felt so serene and well: normal. 

It was one of those day's where I would get up at the crack of dawn just to sneak out to watch the glazing sun wake up for another day. Dakota accompanied me also, in fact, I was only doing it because of her. I would never wake up this early just because. 

But we had been doing it for the past couple days, just sitting there, staring and awaiting for that sun to make it's appearance.

Dakota told me she wanted to be the first one to see the sun arise, but I slammed the truth into her face and told her that other people could be doing what we were doing right as of this moment ... maybe even earlier. 

She just told me to shut up. 

And I did. 

Well I would have been doing it for far more longer if the deafening silence hadn't been eating me up. It was one of those moments where you just felt the need to speak to fill the void of silence, even though this void was already comfortable. 

I guess I just had a knack for making things more awkward than it had to be.

I glanced downwards, observing the wall of which I had vandalized a little over a month ago. It still had the remains of spray paint etched over the bricks meaning that Dakota (and her parents) had no effort to clear it up. I suddenly felt guilty again. 

"Do you want me to clean it up?" 

"What?" She asked, glancing to where my eyes were gazing towards.

She held her knees tightly close to her chest, whilst her head rested on her knees; It was almost as if she was trying to hide. To hide from all her insecurities and weaknesses.

When she realized I was speaking of the wall she merely shook her head in disagreement, causing loose ends of her hair to fall out of her bun and onto her tiresome soft face. 

"Why?" I questioned. Beginning to twiddle my fingers together on my lap in a hopeful plee to distract myself; the temptation to push that loose strand of hair was urging me on.

"I told you I like it."

I sighed. "I know thanks, it means a lot that you say that ... but what about your parents?" 

"They're dead."

To say I was shocked at this abrupt information was most definitely an understatement. I wasn't really sure what to say, let alone what to do. I've never been in a situation as such and I didn't want to say I was sorry because she hated pity as much as I did. Nor did I want to say I understood because I didn't.

I didn't understand most things when it came to Dakota.

So I lean't in for a hug.

But I chickened out like the twat head I am ... so in that last second I patted her back awkwardly instead.

I - absolutely - am an idiot.

She didn't seem to mind though because she just gave me a meekly weak smile. I returned her a similar one, although mine came out more like a nervous smile rather than a reassuring one. 

"So ..."

"Those people in the house are my adoptive parents."

I cleared my hoarse throat - not out of awkwardness, but because it was most likely 7am, we had been here for a little over three hours, and I didn't have a drink before I left. 

"A-are you not sad?" I asked wearily, I wondered whether or not she would snap at me or if she would just break down in tears. Why am I such an inconsiderate person? 

"I am. It's just ... well. My parents used to say, before they died, that they never wanted me to cry because it shows weakness ... and weakness shows that you're broken inside. They told me that instead I should be happy, or at least pretend to be. Obviously not because of their death but because of everything else."

"So I guess I am happy ... sorta."

I stared at her in astonishment. Everything she said slipped out of her mouth in a rush of emotional wreckage. I then knew that she was keeping it all bottled up inside, away from the eyes of those who cared for her (away from me). It hurt to know that she was hurting.

And it hurt even more to know that she was lying. That she was pretending she was alright when she obviously wasn't.

"Dakota."

"Noah."

"You're not happy. Don't deny it either."

She didn't. She silently breathed deeply as she fluttered her eyes closed, almost as if she was hiding her emotions again. But she did it well ... not once did she cry, nor did she shed a tear. But even though I couldn't see it physically it didn't mean she was crying mentally.

Because she was. I could see it - could feel it even. 

"Dakota?"

She nodded in acknowledgement but didn't jolt, nor did she move from her 'calm' cradled position.

"I'll do it."

"Do what?" Her voice was muffled against her cotton jumper sleeve which she was using to cover her broken but beautiful face from sight.

"I'm going to make you happy."