Dreams

I rolled over, and rested myself against my pillow. Or, well, what I thought was my pillow. There was a slight snore and I suddenly became alert, making a mental check that A) my pants were indeed still on, and B) I was in my own bed.

A) Check.
B) I opened my eyes and glanced around the room quickly, recognizing my curtains, bureau, and the battered copy of Romeo and Juliet on my nightstand.

Once I pushed that possibility out of my mind, I turned and found Conrad still passed out beside me, half of his body hanging off the bed, my flowery comforter wrapped around him. I chuckled at the sight, his hair a curly mess around his peaceful face and his mouth hanging open, another snore ripping through his chest.

Shaking my head, I slide out from beside him, unhooking the arm he still had around my waist and left my room, shutting my door silently behind me. The smell of bacon wafted up from the staircase and I slid downstairs on the banister, stumbling into the living room.

I head into the kitchen, finding my mother standing at the stove, her back turned toward me, her shoulders turning in on themselves. A wine glass hung precariously from her fingers and the sight broke my heart. Did my father even know what he was doing to her? Did he not understand the amount of pain he was putting her in?

"Mom?" My voice rang out in the quiet room and she jumped, nearly dropping the wine glass.

"Oh," she mutters, attempting to look put together, and desperately failing at it. She continues cooking the bacon in the skillet on the stove and I wrap my arms around her waist. "I'm just making some breakfast."

"I can see. Do you want me to cook some eggs?" And the moment the words are out, I know it was the wrong thing to say. Eggs were my dad's favorite breakfast food, and he despised bacon. Making it right now wasn't because she wanted it, or because I wanted it, or even for Conrad. She was doing it to spite him.

Her body stiffens and she pulls away, her expression stone-like. "No, I don't want anything you've cooked."

A few minutes after she walks out of the kitchen, the front door slams behind her, car keys rattling. And it scares me that I don't know if she'll come home tonight.

I toss the skillet into the sink, listening to it clank and crash, staring at the sizzling bacon. I understood she was mad. I understood she was hurting, and I'm sorry, but last time I checked, I was human.

I made mistakes.

I slammed the pan further into the sink, turning the cold water on and leaning on my palms. Conrad's arms wrapped around my waist and he kissed my neck. Relaxing into him, I whisper, "Sorry for waking you up..."

"I was bound to get up at some point. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say quickly, grabbing a sponge and squeezing much more dish soap on it than necessary. "I'm fine."

His lips meet my neck and the action sends chills up my spine. "You don't have to be Super Woman all the time you know, emotions are part of life, Sar."

I scrub the pan relentlessly until I drop it in the sink again, feeling tears roll down my face. I grab a towel, wipe my hands, and turn around, burying my face in Conrad's shirt. I don't say anything, and neither does he.

He doesn't promise everything will be okay. He doesn't promise that everything will turn back to normal eventually.

And I'm alright with that, because even if he did, I never would have believed him.