New To This

Daddy

Ziyah's POV

Daya hasn't texted or called me in like 4 days, and that worries the hell out of me since she always text me one minute later except those times when we first started talking and she got back to me the next day. Still she got back to me, and now the only thing I see in my messages are blue bubbles making me look desperate as hell. I don't know what I did, maybe it was the not a virgin thing, or the Danielle thing, or the drunk sibling thing. Either way I ain't gonna lie, I miss her and need to know she's ok.

I sit in my desk chair staring at a blank page in my sketchbook as my arms are sore from boxing this morning. It's all relieving in the moment, but after a bunch of sessions my arms hurt like a bitch.

"Zi," I hear my sister's voice whisper. I turn to see Bree sticking her head through the little space of my door rubbing her eyes with her sleeve.

"Yea," I say. I raise my eyebrows and she opens the door. She's dressed in basketball shorts and a long hoodie I think is mine, but I'll save that talk for another time. God knows there is so much to talk about these days.

"Angela just came and we're all downstairs, umm mom wants to have a talk with us," she says softly.

"I don't want to talk," I say.

Bree opens the door all the way and while touching the hem of her shorts she sits on my bed with her brow furrowed and a bit of a pout on her face. She has the same sadness in her face mom did when we told her we know, and I can't stand to look at it. I mean it's better than her face when she can barely keep her eyes open, and not doze off into space.

"Ziyah we have to talk about it. I mean especially if we want closure or some shit." Bree plays with the strands of her curls that aren't thrown in the messy bun on top of her head.

"I got closure," I say more to myself than to Bree.

I got closure over these last years watching my mom work her ass off all alone without a single ounce of help. Talking about it won't help anything, and all of those celebrities claiming therapy saved their lives are bullshitting. Talking about it only works when it's someone like Daya or someone who doesn't have that annoying therapist face like that girl in The Sopranos.

"Come on Zi just please come downstairs, please, please,please," Bree says and each word her voice gets quieter. After like 5 pleases she just mouths it and is slightly rocking back and forth. Something I've seen her do when she's on some weird scientifically named psychedelic.

"Fine," I say. I get up from my chair and Bree keeps her head down as she follows me out of my room and downstairs.

She wasn't kidding, mom is sitting at the head of the table without her smile and Angela sits in the chair next to her looking at her sharp nails. She still looks all motherly in a flowy shirt like mom, and not as much makeup on as she usually has.

"Goodmorning baby," mom says. Her tone is stern and it doesn't make me wanna hug her or tell her anything.

I sit at the opposite end of the table where dad used to sit, and I hope mom knows I'm doing it on fucking purpose. She notices and rubs the back of her neck with her hand that has all of the beautiful rings on it. I wanna move now, but I'd look like a dumbass if I did. Bree and Angela don't seem phased by it, and are trying to look at their reflections in the shiny surface of the brown dining table. Shit I try to do the same when I realize I chose the dumbest spot in my attempt not to look right in mom's eyes.

Mom takes a deep breath and the only sound for the next minutes is Bree clicking her tongue against the top of her mouth. Adding onto the noise Angela taps the tips of her nails, and I tap my foot against the leg of the table. We keep on doing this until we keep a consistent rhythm that sounds like a beat and mom just looks at us as we begin to smile. If Lucas was here he would be rapping over this shit.