Let's Not Talk About Tomorow

Jake

Time skip (9 years later, Jake is 14 years old)

Slowly, I pushed my key into the lock and opened the door. No one called to greet me. Papa was probably crying, he'd been doing that a lot recently. I let my bag fall to the ground and kicked off my shoes. I heard a gentle snoring coming from the kitchen, Dad was slumped over the kitchen island, asleep. A slice of buttered toast was stuck to his cheek.

"Hey, Jake" A quiet voice greeted me, it was Papa.

"Hey, Papa" I smiled. I walked over to him and hugged him gently. He was so slim, he'd snap in half if I applied too much pressure. "How was your day?"

"Pretty boring" He replied, mono-tone "What about you?"

"Jake!" Dad shot up, the toast was still stuck to him "Hey, buddy"

"Tired, Dad?" I grinned

"Yeah" He yawned as he laid back down "This toast is surprisingly comfortable"

"That was supposed to be my toast" Papa smiled

"Oh, right" Dad sat up and peeled it of his face "I'll put another round in"

"Don't worry, I'm not hungry"

"I don't care"

"Dad, go to bed" I sighed as I watched him stifle a yawn. He shook his head and slotted a slice of bread in the toaster.

This happened more frequently than either of us liked. Dad didn't have a stable job anymore, not since he got fired from his teaching position 9 years ago. No one would take him when Papa was part of the package. Papa had fallen into his depression even worse than ever,he'd lost a lot of weight, not that he ever had much weight to lose. Lines of worry are starting to appear on Dad's face. Therapy doesn't seem to be helping Papa at all. He has nightmares all the time, so often that he's afraid of going to sleep. Dad is awake practically all night, every night, trying to convince him to go to sleep.

Luckily, we haven't been evicted from our house. Yet. I know Dad is struggling with money, I don't bother asking for things anymore.Sometimes it gets to a point where a group of smartly dressed business men are knocking on our door demanding some form of payment that is due. More often than I would like, I hear Dad crying to himself late at night. I have savings, my biological parents left me all their money in their will but Dad won't take it.

As I got older, I soon realised what the marks on Papa's body were and how they were caused. It was then I knew why the cutlery drawer and bathroom cupboards were locked. Any form of blade that Papa could use must be kept safely hidden away. Papa is the biggest threat to himself.

"How was school?" Dad asked as he wiped his cheek. I just shrugged "Got any homework?"

"A little bit" I lied. In all honesty, I'm failing. I need help but I don't know how to ask for it. I haven't done a single piece of homework this year, it just keeps getting added to the ever growing pile under my bed. Lucky for me, Dad respects the fact that I'm a teenager and need privacy, therefore he rarely enters my bedroom. If it weren't for Papa, I wouldn't even bother cleaning it. Randomly,Papa will walk into my room and freak out if it's a tip. So to make mine and Dad's life a heck of a lot easier, I keep my room fairly clean and tidy.

"Here you go" Dad slides a plate of toast across to Papa, who flinches and gingerly reaches out to push it away. "Princess, please eat" He sat down next to Papa and took a bite of his toast before offering it out to him. I smiled to myself as I remembered the first time I ever had real butter. All of our food was fat-free or lactose free or gluten free or something... free. Dad was extremely limited with his food, he could only eat certain things. He tried his hardest to buy food for me and Papa but the food Dad has to eat is quite expensive because of how it's made or something like that. I mainly rely on my friends for sweets and chocolate.