Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
I watch the house intently, trying to breathe, waiting to see any signs of distress. I keep thinking that I'll see a chair crash through the glass window or perhaps Laz being thrown out the front door. I know he meant what he said when he said he wouldn't fight back, which means that if my father gets nasty with him, Laz will take it. And that could lead to some serious damage.
So I sit there and I wait.
And I wait.
And I wait.
And I worry.
The sun fades and twilight comes and the house is still dark.
I must have fallen asleep for a while because suddenly I'm shaking awake and a roaring sound fills my ears.
I open my eyes to see orange streetlights coming in through the windows, the car moving.
Laz is driving, his eyes on the road.
"What happened?" I ask, my voice groggy. I try to sit up. My head is pounding from all the crying and screaming earlier.
"You fell asleep," he says simply.
I squint at him, trying to see if he's been hurt, if he has a black eye, but he looks fine. "What happened with my father? Is everything okay?"
He nods. "Eventually. It was a rough start."
He doesn't go on.
I prod him. "Please. Tell me what happened."
I tense up, waiting to hear the worst.
"Nothing much," he says. "He had a few more insults up his sleeve. He called me a bitch too, if that makes you feel any better. He shoved me around a few times."
"Oh my god. I'm so sorry."
I am so ashamed.
"Nah, it was fine. I just didn't want him to hurt himself, he nearly fell on the coffee table at one point. But he tired himself out. Sat back down on the couch. I asked if he wanted a beer and he looked at me like I was the angel of mercy."
"Laz..."
"I went into the kitchen, found an empty can. Filled it with water. Brought it back to him."
"He knew it was water."
"I'm not sure. He drank it. I think he was just happy that I was on his side, you know? That's how my mother always got me to deal with my father. His drink of choice was gin, so she'd always have some juniper essence on hand and just add that to a highball glass along with ice and water. I'd bring it out to him and my father would immediately calm down. He never caught on that there wasn’t any gin. Not at that point, he was too far gone. He saw me as someone he could trust, that I was on his side. I figured the same would work with your father and it did."
"Like good cop, bad cop?"
"More or less. So I just sat with him and talked to him like he was completely sober. He didn't say much, just slurred and mumbled about who knows what but at least I made him feel like he was normal and I wasn't against him. Eventually he fell asleep so I cleaned him up as much as I could."
"You did what?" Now I'm horrified.
"I cleaned him up." He glances at me. "What's wrong?"
"I...I just...Laz. You didn't have to do that, he...you saw the state he was in."
"Oh yes, I saw it all. But like I said, I've had to do that before too."
"When you were just a child?"
He nods. "Yup. Another thing my mother had me do."
Jesus Christ.
"Laz..." I want to cry right now. I didn't think I had any tears left in me but I do. "You know you didn't have to do that."
"I know I don't have to do anything. But I wanted to, Marina. I wanted to help him, I wanted to help you. I did it for you."
My heart inflates, inflates, inflates.
I can't believe it.
That he would do that for me.
He can’t possibly know what this means. He can’t know what…
“Please don’t cry,” he says softly.
And I am crying. Tears spill down my cheeks.
“I’m just so…” I try to say, my chest filling, my heart exploding. I’ve never felt such love for him before.
Love.
Love.
I love you.
The feeling should startle me, shock me, but I’ve never felt more awake, more alive, more…anything, than right now.
The fact that he would do that for me, take care of my father when I couldn’t, it’s like he’s taken my pain for me. He held it, carried it so I wouldn’t have to, just for a moment. But it was a moment I’ll never forget.
I am so grateful.
So grateful.
And so in love with him.
I swallow the feeling down, knowing I have to keep it from him. Because this isn’t how a friend loves a friend. This is how a lover loves a lover. And we aren’t even that. Knowing me, we might never be that.
Still, when we pull up to my house, I don’t want to lose him. I don’t want him to go home.