Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

55 | Left In The Dust

LUNES
4:48 AM

Dahlia Gray

I couldn't sleep.

After settling at the park bench and telling Harlow everything that has happened during our time apart, including the event that led to our rekindling—safe to say, Harlow was furious.

I've never seen such aggression seep through his blue eyes and the sudden insatiable need to take action. He jumped from his seat, despite exhaustion humming in his bones, and was ready and armed to lead straight to my childhood home and give my father a piece of his mind.

It took absolutely everything in me to hold him back.

I didn't want Harlow to do everything for me. He always tries to fight my battles for me, and I'm coming to terms that that's not what I want. I want to be able to make the final decision, to make the call, because I finally know where I stand. It's a harsh reality ahead, but it's a reality I'm prepared for.

...One day.

After our midnight conversation seeped into the next day, Harlow decided to take me to his house. I'm going to be staying with his family until I muster up my final load of courage to face my father. That, and Harlow's absolute refusal to let me return home. He doesn't trust what could happen next, especially with my father's heated condition, and to say I disagree with him is a total lie.

But he forgets I have my mother to worry about.

When he took me back to his home, he immediately made a ruckus entering into the dimly-lit house since it was bordering three am. Familiar faces spawn behind opened doors, with droopy eyes and a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-up expression. I tried to apologize with the look on my face, but they paid no attention to me.

Just the boy beside me.

He told them that he needed Presley, and he dashed up the stairs before anyone got the opportunity to object. I was left standing in the foyer, awkwardly hanging as my eyes took an interest in the decorations that surrounded the house. Nini was the first person who approached me.

Her dyed blonde hair has grown from the roots and dark, jet-black hair is seen underneath. She fits in her nightgown and a long, woolly robe, eyes met with a soft and sympathetic gaze despite sleep eating away into the creases of her eyes.

"What's wrong?" She had asked me, a warm hand attempts to touch the braze of my shoulder to show that she was safe and she wasn't going to hurt me, but I can't lie and say that I didn't flinch when she made the approach. She noticed, the lock on her eyes melted into a gradual realization that pools in immense concern.

She didn't say anything for a good few seconds, as ruckus continues to channel through the second floor, bickering being played between the two. Nini watches me with a scrutiny gaze, until she asks to pull me towards the kitchen and sits me down at the breakfast table before offering a drink. I asked for tea.

Once she made a cup for herself and me, she slid the mug across the table and I told little sips, my throat calling for thirst after hours of talking to Harlow. We sat in a wagering silence, thick but not completely uncomfortable, and Nini folded her legs over the over as she waited for Harlow and Presley to follow down the stairs.

But they didn't. Not quick enough, at least.

"What happened?" She asked once more, her eyes pooled into me and whispered with one look. You can trust me, they said, I won't hurt you.

Had she asked me another day, a couple of months ago, where I was shamefully hiding the conditions of my home behind closed doors and minimizing my pain with gentle smiles and little communication, I would've said no. I would've lied between my gritted teeth but today was different. Today was a tipping point, and I was finally ready to spill.