Concrete Castle

I woke up feeling like I couldn't breathe. Opening my eyes, I saw brown hair. “John, get off me.” I pushed on him gently, letting out the rest of the air in my lungs in a laugh. John groaned, his face snuggling more into my neck. “Come on, John, it's like...” I swiveled my head around, looking for the clock, “nine, we have to get ready.”

“Don't wanna. You're comfortable.” John's voice was muffled by my hair and skin. He wrapped his arms around me, his warm breath hitting my cold skin. I was sorely tempted to just lie there with him, to fill my lungs with his distinct scent, and not even think about going back to Arizona.

But I had to, because I couldn't run anymore. It was time to face everything, once and for all.

“John, come on.” I nudged some more.

He left out a deep breath against my neck, which raised goosebumps on my arms, and got off me. Not fully off, he just supported his weight on his elbows on either side of my shoulders. “Morning, Daisy.”

“Morning, Johno.” I let him kiss me, just on the cheek because morning breath is vicious, even though I wasn't in the mood for intimacy at the moment. Although I suspect I was beginning to like him, I didn't want to further our relationship.

It just complicated everything I've tried to hard to build. I didn't just have a wall, I had a castle. I lived safely in the castle, too. Nice, thick concrete structures guarded my fragile self.

At least, not at the moment.

I was going to go back, and, when I was ready, I was going to take care of everything. I wanted to break down the castle for once and let someone in. So far, John had only gotten passed the crocodile infested moat surrounding it. I was willing to destroy everything for John.

But, I couldn't do that without preparation. And, I fear said preparation might take a while.

The twelve hour car ride home started off with two hours of silence. I didn't know what to say. Last night, I confessed everything about my father, and John didn't seem that upset, taken back, surprised, disgusting, nothing. He just took it.

And then I practically assaulted him. I completely humiliated myself, he was probably mentally laughing at me. And, it starts, all the negative is coming back to me.

“Why didn't you react?” I began, staring out the window. On top of everything else, it was great folly I didn't realize and bring this up last night, “When I told you about my father, why didn't you have to normal reaction?”

“What's the normal reaction?” John answered my question with a question of his own. At me silence, he grew serious, “How are you supposed to act when someone tells you their father is a complete psychopath?”

“...Not...like how you did.” I mumbled, fiddling with my hands. “You are supposed to tell me that he's disgusting, a poor excuse for a father, something other than It's alright. It kind of was like...you already knew...” I trailed off, “But, that's not true because how could you have known?”

“I did know.” John admitted.

I felt like I couldn't breathe again, only this time there wasn't a person restricting my lungs, just shock. “What?” I managed to get out, I was now staring at the side of his face in terrible horror.

“Baylee told me everything the weekend we went camping. The night we slept by the fire together.” John explained.

“You...knew.” I repeated. “Baylee told you.”

It fell silent in the car again, neither of us being able to come up with anything to say.

It seemed like he was already a step ahead of me. Not matter what, it was like John knew what was coming, and he already planned out every possible outcome. Like he was the playwright, and I was some useless character, a muse.

“You had no right to do that.” I seethed through clenched teeth finally. Anger started to boil up in me, and in that moment I realized why I had ever hated John in the first place. “What makes you think it's okay to pry into my personal life like that, without me telling you myself.”

“I didn't think you were ever going to tell me!” John answered quickly.

“Why did you even need to know about it?” I practically yelled.

“I care! Is that hard to believe or something?”

“Yes!”

“Why?” John demanding, voice rising like mine had.

“Because you never did before!” I screamed at him, tears prickling at the back of my eyes. I never usually cried, and especially not from getting angry, and I refused to let John see tears fall from my eyes, not now anyway.

“Yes I did!” John insisted, pounding his fist on the steering wheel where he was previously holding, “I cared more about you than you realize, than I even realized myself. I wanted to find out what is was that was making you hurt so bad so I could find a way to help you.”

“You did not!” I asserted, just like John had, “If you cared, you wouldn't have treated me the way you did!”

“Pray tell me, how did I treat you?” John demanded, rolling his eyes.

“Like I was the amoeba on the dirt beneath your shoes. You got in my business, you insulted me, and you didn't care how badly it hurt. Every class I had with you was the worst class ever. When you weren't insulting me, you were ignoring me completely. How can you tell me that you liked me all that time, when you were so cruel?” I asked.

John was silents for a few moments, and I saw the muscles in his neck and jaw working. “I really did like you, Devon. I still like you. In fact, I love you.” He said, looking at me in the eye momentarily before attending to the road. He looked...sincere.

My stomach slammed into my knees and then shot up into my throat. No one but my parents once upon a time had said that to me, and sure as heck no one ever meant it in the way John meant it.

“You think you can just tell me that and this goes away?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at him. I crossed my arms across my chest and settled back into the seat, turning my glare on the passing landscape out the passenger side window. “It doesn't go away, John, you betrayed my trust.”

“Did I even have any of your trust to begin with?” John sighed.

“No. And now you're even father from gaining it.”

I lied, he had me in the palm of his hand before that moment. If he said the sky was orange, I would not question it. Even if I had to work on a lot of things, I still trusted him. But now...

I guess it was only prying into my past, and shouldn't be considered a serious offense, and he only did it because he cared.

Talking my way through it in my head, I decided I wasn't even mad at John in the first place. He didn't know what he would find when he asked Baylee. I should be mad at Baylee. But, I couldn't even find myself able to do that. Baylee was always looking out for me, no matter what.

Out of everyone, Baylee was the one I trusted and counted on most. If she told John, it was only with my best interest in mind. Even if I couldn't talk to her about what I was thinking and feeling, I still thought of her like a sister, a part of me in a way. Like an extra head or something.

I guess, what it comes out to is, I was mostly angry at myself. For being unable to talk about it with Baylee, making her worry, making her have to tell someone else in hopes that maybe they could help me. I was even mad at myself for being so screwed up that I needed a past to shut out from everyone.

I leaned my head against the window, praying for rain and a chance to run through it. Because in the rain I could let out all my frustrated, complicated tears, and no one would notice.

I'm a terrible person, I concluded as I thought through everything again. I made Baylee worry unnecessarily, I dragged John to California when he had better, more important things to do, and...

I drove my dad crazy and it resulted in my mother's death.

I even blamed myself for being alive at this moment. I could have just let go when I was in the coma, I could have let go after the first stab. What was I holding on for? What was I hoping would be awaiting for me when I woke up, even when my life had been obliterated?

This was the difference between Arizona me, and elsewhere me. In Arizona (and apparently in the car back to Arizona), I was weighed down by everything, like I had the world on my shoulders. In California, everything slipped away to where I was actually on top of the world, not holding it up. I wish I could have that forever...

I sighed, hating myself more with every mile John drove. I'm pathetic. Some people have real problems, and I'm stuck living in the past.

I want to break free from that, I want to stop being who I am, and be who I want to be. In order to do that, in order to be with John, and in order to stop being so miserable, and actually live how I wanted...

I needed to confront my father.

But, like I said, that was going to take a lot of time to get ready for. All I hope for is John's willingness to wait. He proclaims to have waited for me all this time anyway, he could stand to wait a couple more months.

I slowly drifted off into a very light sleep. And, the next thing I knew, the rest of the drive had gone by without hardly any conversation with John. The only time being when decided on what to eat.