Honey Lips

{eight}

"Somewhere the timing will all come together
The mishaps will turn into sunny Decembers
The lovers will be able to find their willow"

     Sleep is one of the most vulnerable states you could possibly be in. Now, crying yourself to sleep is a different ordeal. As you clutch that pillow to your chest for protection and let the tears cascade down your face. From time to time you'll turn your head into your mattress to muffle your wails of pain. You nose clogs up, your eyes sting, your body is trembling between hot and cold shivers.

     It's endless until your mind drifts you off to a place of peaceful utopia.

     That's how some of my nights have been. And now, here we are again. The sounds of dad and Gina bickering and throwing insults and screaming is like war to my ears. Painful and scary. You want it to end.

     As if the setting could get anymore gloomier, the sky turns into a dark veil of anger. The rain pounds on the roof like Ginas fists on dads chest. The lightning cracks like a swear word to top off the other. The thunder brews like the insults ready to ricochet. How fitting.

     Figuring I wouldn't get much sleep, I trudge out of bed and to the window. I stare at the anger filled sky. "Why this family? Why?" I cry, tugging at strands of my hair. As if the sky could give me some sort of answer.

     And just like that, an angel. Miguel pushes open his window with so much force the glass shatters against the house. "Lydia!" He motions with his hand for me to come to him. I turn back around and grab my fluffy slippers just as Gina's voice raises another octave.

     The wind is howling. Crying out a song of despair and pain. I carefully step out of the window and grab ahold of a branch from the tree in between our houses. I manage to lose my footing a couple times, but eventually Miguel grabs me by the waist and pulls me in. My hair is an atrocious mess from the wind and my clothes are stuck to my skin.

     Miguel reaches up his hand and moves the hair out of my face. "What's wrong, bella?"

     "The-They were fighting a-and I co-couldn't—"

     Miguel notices my struggle in words and cuts me off. "Shh, come here." He pulls my trembling body into his chest and holds me like a child. Like always, I feel safe in his arms; completely out of harms way.

Immediately, I regret coming here. I've totally invaded his space let alone stepped foot in his room. "I should go—"

"No. You can stay here for the night."

"Okay . . . I'll take the floor." I wipe my face of the salty liquid and start to squat on the floor. Miguel grabs my forearm and pulls me back up.

"The hell you are. This is my house and you are my guest, so therefore you take the bed. I'll sleep downstairs on the couch."

He can't do that. I feel bad enough that I've disturbed him from a peaceful slumber. "No, this is your room so I'll take the c—"

"Lydia," he warns. He takes a step closer and brushes a strand of hair out of my face. "Let me take care of you." Sincerity stirs like a whirlpool in his hazel eyes. I find myself nodding, given the fact I don't trust my voice.

Miguel takes my hand and ushers me into his warm sheets that he'd been laying in just minutes before. He pulls the duvet cover up to my chin and tucks me in. "Try and get some sleep."

I nod once again. He turns on his heel and exits the room.

The whole night I stare at the ceiling. No matter how much my body protested staying awake my mind must have drank a whole liter of energy juice. That, and I'm terrified of storms. Constantly images of my mom stir around. What would she do if she were here? Somehow she always knew what to do and say, but I'm just point blank lost.

I've tried to intervene in dad and Gina's fights, but every time I'm unsuccessful in mending their relationship. It's rocky, but somehow they remain together. Fights like this happen on different occasions: they've been drinking too much and spill their sober thoughts, their pissed at each other for whatever reason and throw insults, or work gets the better of them.

My guess on this one is alcohol. Gina's slurred words of anger and dads defeated insults were all I heard before I came to the window. Who knows what Daniels been doing. He still refuses to talk to me.

Sighing, I close my eyes and think to better days; when mom made Daniel and I the most amazing dinners and deserts. Her apple pie was always a winner. Back to when she packed our lunches and wrote little post-it notes on the foil of our sandwiches. I remember how I've collected them over the years in a little envelope. And when she ran out of post-its, she did it on napkins. Even when she took multiple days off work to take care of us when we were ill. She'd make us soup that warmed our souls and medicine that took away the pain. All the while, dad was working and doing God knows what.

I close my eyes and smile. If she were here now, she'd scold me for staying up so late on a school night. And if there was a storm, she'd sing to me. Even when I hit my teenage years she still sang to calm my raging nerves.

"Down by the water, under the willow
Sits a lone ranger, minding the willow
He and his wife, once lived happily
Planted a seed, that grew through the reeds
Summers and winters, through snowy Decembers
Sat by the water close to the embers
Missing out the lives that they once had before,"

She ran her fingers down the bridge of my nose and across my forehead, a move that made me sleepy in minutes.

"I wouldn't leave you
I would hold you
When the last day comes
What if you need me
Won't you hold me
On the last day,"

I can imagine her soft lips kiss my forehead as the warm darkness consumes me.

"Our last day."

♪ — Willow by Jasmine Thompson