Dare to Fall

Chapter XXXII

Kissing May or May Not Be the Best Part

Kissing might be one of the most extraordinary experiences, an intersection of emotions that leaves you breathless. It brings a sense of comfort and connection, a fleeting moment where the world fades away, and all that matters is the person in front of you. Though he wasn't my first kiss, he was the one who set the bar. With him, it felt like a firework show in my stomach, every spark and pop igniting the butterflies within me.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, pulling back just enough to gather his thoughts. His hands cupped my cheeks, and I melted into his touch, instinctively wrapping my arms around his neck to draw him closer, deepening the kiss.

"I've been trying to hold myself back, but it's hard when you keep stepping closer, tempting me to do the impossible," he confessed, a hint of frustration in his voice.

I bit my lip, holding his gaze, curiosity mingling with apprehension. He brushed his thumb across my lips, his expression softening. "Don't do that. It just makes me want to kiss you more," he added, a playful smile breaking through.

We shared a chuckle, the tension easing slightly, but the moment lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken words.

"You know, I still haven't told you about my father's death," I said, the weight of the topic settling between us.

Concern flickered across his face as he placed both hands on my shoulders. "You don't have to share if it makes you uncomfortable," he said, his eyes darting from mine to my lips. "But if you do want to talk, I promise I'll be here for you, a shoulder to cry on."

His sincerity tugged a smile from me, and I nodded slowly.

*** Before ***

"Dad!" I squealed, racing toward him and enveloping him in a hug. His presence felt like home, grounding me in a moment of pure joy.

He had been away for two long months, sent to another state for work. I knew he never told my mom why, but I sensed she suspected something. "Pumpkin, I've missed you so much," he said, squeezing me tight. "How have you and your mom been?"

"Not so good without you," I replied, forcing a smile. "But now that you're here for my birthday, we'll be happy again. We'll be complete."

I was turning eight, and this was the gift I had wished for most—a day spent with my dad, my family whole again.

"Oh, honey, I wish I could stay, but... daddy has work again." My heart sank. "You know I have to work for you and your mom, right?"

I nodded, but inside, I felt my smile falter. "I understand, Dad." I fought back the urge to cry, wanting to show him I was strong.

"To cheer you up, what do you want for your birthday?" he asked, smiling and placing his hands on my shoulders.

You. Us. Being complete again is all I want.

"Nothing, I guess," I replied, watching his smile fade into something sadder. I could see him searching for understanding in my eyes, as if he could read the disappointment hidden beneath my bravado.

"I bought you a laptop," he said, his voice tentative, as if he were testing the waters. "I guess you don't want it, huh?"

My face lit up at the mention of the gift. "I'll take it!" I said, the excitement bubbling over. His chuckle warmed my heart, and he pinched my cheeks, a gesture I had missed.

"Turn around," he instructed, and I raised an eyebrow but complied. A brand-new laptop sat on the coffee table, gleaming under the light. "Happy birthday! It's the least I could do."

I rushed to him, hugging him tightly, overwhelmed with gratitude. It wasn't the gift I'd dreamed of, but it was from him, and that made it special. I felt the urge to cry but swallowed it down, not wanting to ruin the moment.

"I'll be right back," I said, grabbing the laptop and retreating to my room. I placed it on my desk, excitement bubbling in my chest. I wanted to wake my mom, but the house felt eerily quiet.

As I contemplated my next move, I heard raised voices coming from the living room. Curiosity piqued, I peered down the stairs, knowing I shouldn't eavesdrop but unable to resist.

"I told you already that I'm not—" Dad's voice was tense, and he paced back and forth, running a hand through his hair. I caught a glimpse of my mom, her expression strained. They were arguing already, just hours after he had returned home.

I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. I had hoped for a happy reunion, not this. Birthdays should be filled with laughter, not conflict.

"I never wanted this to happen," I whispered to myself, retreating back to my room. I grabbed a towel and fresh clothes, seeking comfort in a hot shower. The water washed over me, but the negative thoughts wouldn't leave my mind.

What if Dad wasn't really working? What if he was cheating? I shook my head, trying to banish the thoughts. I'd seen too many movies and read too many stories; I couldn't let my imagination spiral.

After drying off and dressing, I heard a soft knock on my door. Mom entered, and I sensed the tension thick in the air. She walked over to the bed and sat down, her expression serious.

"Honey..." she started, but I continued brushing my hair, avoiding her gaze.

"Your father has left us," she said finally, her voice heavy with sadness.

"Again?" I asked, my heart racing. She nodded, and the happiness I had felt moments ago vanished, replaced by a deep ache.

He had left on my birthday. The day I had longed to celebrate with him had turned into my worst nightmare.

"I'm so sorry, Felicity. If you want, we could cancel your party and just spend the day together," she suggested, her voice trembling slightly.

"No need. You can cancel the party, and maybe you can leave too," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I meant it, and part of me felt guilty for being harsh.

"I don't want to leave you. Not today," she said, reaching for my arm, her grip firm yet gentle.

"Mom, I just want to be alone right now," I replied, forcing back tears. "Please, just give me some space."

She looked hurt but nodded, stepping away. "I understand," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

She left the room, and I felt a pang of guilt but pushed it aside. I crawled onto my bed, staring at the blank TV screen. My reflection stared back—an eight-year-old girl struggling with the weight of emotions far beyond her years.

As I lay there, I felt like a shipwrecked sailor lost at sea, desperately searching for a beacon of hope. The perfect family I had once envisioned now felt like a mirage, slipping further away each day.

The happy faces I had drawn for family day at school were nothing but illusions, crafted from my imagination. In reality, my family was a puzzle with missing pieces, each one lost in a sea of silence and misunderstanding.

A tear slipped down my cheek, and I felt my heart race. I wanted to scream, to cry until the hurt faded away. But instead, I held it in, fighting against the tide of despair.

Happy birthday to me, I guess.