Summer Before Her (Completed)

9- I'll take it

Novak's POV

I walked out of the ice-cream parlour
and instantly regretted snapping at her.

She did push me to that edge though, she lied, she lied about being with me and by virtue of that, I had been dishonest. All my life both of my parents had lied, repeatedly, hidden things from me and then pretended as all of it didn't happen when I became aware of their lies, essentially gaslighting me subtly.

She pretended like she didn't lie to half the school and oh so casually asked me about the project and then villainized me for behaving such, portraying that I was the crazy one here, losing my mind over nothing, There was something gravely wrong with, something I couldn't put a finger on- I tried reasoning with myself.

I perched myself on the motorcycle and lit a cigarette, letting nicotine soothe my anger and regrets.

From the corner of my eyes, I could see her still eating ice cream behind the glass window, the more my attention drifted towards her visibly sobbing form, the stronger the regret settled in but no fibre in my being would support me to walk up to her and apologize. My feet felt solidified into the concrete beneath them.

And then I realized, in walking away I had left my helmet sitting on the table next to her. How would I retrieve that without crushing my pride? I decided to wait until she left.

I then spotted a server walking up to her with another plateful of icecream, oh my, this is going to take forever, I should just ask someone to get it, possibly one of these kids.

"Hey" someone called out tapping my shoulder. I turned around to have my face connect with a fist, a sickening crack reverberated through my skull. Ah, how's that for pride now?

Recovering from the pain, I saw Fred walking into the store nursing his knuckles. So it was him.

Normally I would retaliate harshly against a sucker punch, male ego and all, I would not only hit back but hit twice and make it hurt but today I felt the need to punish myself so I accepted the now dulling pain at the bridge of my nose, my chest heaved from exhibiting self-control of this degree, my heart rate climbed as adrenaline coursed through but all I did was stand back and let these feelings wash over me, curtaining away the regret.

I then casually walked back into the parlour, my pride now completely crushed, the aftertaste of cigarettes and icecream now replaced by the metallic taste of blood. They should definitely be housing an icepack.

"Good Evening Sir! What would you like to have?" asked the cashier with a smile plastered on her face, forced cheer ringing through the voice as she eyed me warily.

"An icepack? And that helmet" I responded pointing at it.

"Oh, I see" she responded understandingly and walked off into the kitchen.

I stood there drumming my fingers on the counter waiting for her as Kirsten sitting in the far corner sobbed into Fred's chest, his eyes boring into me.
I just smirked slightly in response.

The cashier returned with an old pack of freezer burnt ice cream wrapped in plastic and said: "This is all we have, Sir." I nodded a thank you and placed it on my now swollen nose.
She stood there silently watching and then hesitantly uttered "I can't get the helmet for you, sir, its against store policy" Ah, just my fucking luck.

I urged myself to just walk up, grab the helmet and leave but I ended up dragging my feet as I walked up to them, grabbing my helmet and then lingering there while Fred's glare burned holes into my face. She was completely unaware of my presence, her face rested in the crook of his neck, Argh! how I wanted to tear them apart.

"Hey, Kirsten, I am sorry, text me" I muttered, turned on my heels and walked away like I was on fire.

Text me - really? Were there no better words? I was new to apologies, it was a fairly western concept in our household and as dad says 'we Arabs have pride'

A little too much pride if you ask me.

**

I woke up to sharp stabbing pain radiating from my ribs, and as the grogginess wore off, I realized that I had spent the night on the porch and the source of the pain was fathers foot. Do all fathers wake their drunken children up with a kick? Or was I just gifted with a special one? I wondered out loud in a jumble of Arabic and English.

My father scoffed back "Don't run your mouth like your mother did, you don't want to be where she is"

In my most vulnerable moments, I revert back to the Eight yr old hiding under the table while my parents smacked down like it was WWE, in some small city in Lebanon.
Since then, life has changed a lot, Dad no longer has someone to throw punches at, we have moved far away from that place and I am no longer eight.

I managed to pull my self off the porch and into the house, my gait still drunken, I stumbled upon the air a few times and made it to the bed. That's where I was going to spend the rest of my Sunday, thanks for the great start to the morning, dad.

I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the messages unintentionally, my eyes falling on the address for the icecream parlour. How does one make a come back from 'insensitive freak'?
Should I also pretend that nothing happened, wouldn't that be a tad bit too hypocritical?- i wondered.

The screen was now black, as I stared back at myself, the marred features of my mother looked at me and in this moment I realized how alike my father and I were. I despised him for being a drunk, for being abusive and I drank on most nights, I let my tongue carry out the abuse.

**

For the second time today, I awoke to sharp pain, this time it was my head.
It was perhaps the combination of Alcohol, dehydration, starvation and the lack of nicotine in my system.

The house was enveloped in darkness, Ah, so darling father was out again. This house ran like a well-oiled machine, we both avoided each other like the plague, went drinking in turns and the entire machinery of family unit collapsed when the cogs collided; when we co-existed.

I settled for a sandwich and cigarette, this would fix the headache. As I ate, my thumbs tapped away randomly on my phone and soon I was staring at the address for the icecream parlour, I should just text her. It's not like if I keep staring at the screen, it would conjure up a text from her. Nevertheless, I keep staring as I thought about a hundred thing I could say and why I shouldn't say them.

The phone buzzed in my hands as it read - "it's okay, I was overwhelmed, so, project ?"

Oh, staring does work.

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Hey guys!
Another day, Another chapter is done!
I hope you enjoyed reading it, I definitely enjoyed writing it!

Same question as the last chapter: Novak vs. Kirsten, whose side are on?

Please Vote and comment if you liked the chapter!

Until tomorrow
Elle