Timothee.

chapter thirteen. adele.

I could've handled things differently. I won't even lie, standing there in his kitchen I was embarrassed of the way I acted out of character; and now that I knew who he was? I couldn't help but act out of humiliation.

It was exactly why he didn't want to tell me who he was.

We stood in silence, mostly because he was waiting for me to say something. I felt like I couldn't say anything. I was star struck, as much as I hated to think that. I was actually a fan of Timothée... who wasn't? The scariest thing to me was how he wasn't how I imagined him to be at all. Of course it was stereotypical, but he was so pained in the inside and I felt that I was contributing to that pain. Putting him through the ringer when we were supposed to go on that date? Playing hard to get?

"Adele... what now?" He asked me with a puzzled look on his face. His glass had barely been touched. Mine, however, was down to its last drops. "I don't know... Can I be honest with you?" He simply nodded. "I'm kind of... star struck. I know about you... I really loved Timothée Chalamet. But I feel like I don't know him. I know Timothée." I chuckled at my own comment, so cheesy but it was true.

"But you know Timothée, and that's all that matters."
"I know."
Instantly, my phone starting vibrating like crazy in my pocket. Setting the glass down, I fished for my phone out of my pocket and saw it was my mother. "Holy shit." I rushed through the kitchen and into his bedroom closing the door and locking it. I answered.

"Mom? Mom. What's going on?"
"I... Have you been to the house? I've gotten multiple drunk voicemails from your father telling me that you stopped by and he's furious." I heard a male voice in the background. "I did. You were cheating on him?" It was still no excuse for how he was acting. "Baby... If you knew the type of man your father was you would understand."
"So tell me mom... what kind of man is he? I'm lost in the dark. Everything fell apart in just one night. What would he have done to me if I were there? What kind of man is he mom?"

"It's best if you don't go back, Adele. He's a lost cause—"
"He's my dad!"
"He's not... the same man you knew. He's lost control of himself."
"Are you coming back?"

There was silence on her end, then sudden distant conversation. A deep set voice spoke to her in french, in which I understood.

"Comment vas-tu lui dire?" He asked how my mother was going to tell me. Tell me what?
"What do you have to tell me? And who is with you?" She sighed deeply. Her voice cracked as she spoke. I cracked my knuckles out of pure nervousness, my foot tapping on the floor like I had no control over it. My heart was pounding against my chest trying to escape. "Mom?"
"I'm... not coming back. I hope you can understand." My breath hitched, I had so much I wanted to say to her but I couldn't say it all without sobbing. What the hell was I supposed to do? Are they going to negotiate over me like I'm some object? Like a family heirloom? What kind of mother leaves her daughter in the middle of New York City, with nothing but her alcoholic father?

"I love you, text me if you want to come and see me." And just like that, the call ended. My mind was racing. Before I met Timothée my life was so simple, and I had made sure of that. No, I had no friends but at least I had my family. Now? I don't even have that.

Timothée knocked on the door, I stood up to answer it. "Is everything okay?" He took a step closer, testing his boundaries with me. No, nothing is okay. Everything is falling apart and I have nobody. I'm alone. What do I do?
"Yeah... I'll be okay."