Illegally in Love

I gaped at my bedroom.

Holy Shit.

Pete looked at me nervously. “D-do you like it? If you don’t we can repaint it. And get new furniture. And new carpet. Anything you want.” He babbled frantically, like he was afraid I would hurt him.

Now where would he get that idea?

I laughed a little and looked at him, a nice smile adorning my face. “I love it , Pete. Really, I-” I stopped mid-sentence and gasped and what had caught my eye. On one of the many book shelves was a small sliver picture frame. The frame held my mother. I frowned and walked over to the shelf, filled with pictures Patrick probably helped Pete pick out. I brushed my finger gently over the glass or the frame. The picture was of my mother and Peter as teenagers, both in ‘90’s styled swimsuits, the beach crashing behind them. They were laughing. In all my life, I had never seen my mother smile. I wish she had done it more often. It was a beautiful smile. Just looking at it made me feel like the clouds had parted and the sun was beaming right on me, making my warm and whole on the inside.

I felt the gentle caress of a salty tear as it slipped down my soft cheek. I sniffed, stealthy wiping the tear away before Peter saw it. I took a deep breath and summoned a, fake as hell, smile onto my face. I gave one last glance at the photo and turned around, the clouds engulfing the sun once again. That is, until I see Patrick again.

“Well,” I walked away from the shelves and my tid bit of happiness, and sat on my new, and awesome, bed, “thanks for the nice room. I’m a bit tired, though,” Cue fake yawn, “I think I’m gonna go to bed early.”

He frowned a bit but nodded, walking to the door. Right as I think I’m home free, just as his hand is on the door handle, he turns around and faces me. The look on his face made my blood run colder than ice.

Oh dear god….he’s going to try to have a father/daughter moment. God damnnit! What am I? A walking Hallmark Factory?! Why does everyone have to have these talks with me?

He looked down at his feet and shuffled them slightly. “I-I really have missed you Channy. I’m real glad you’re here.” He looked back up at me with his sad puppy-dog face. I stare back at him, eyes unemotional and uncaring. As I am feeling about this little ‘heart-to-heart’.

He bites his lip, and adverts his gaze. “Yeah……” He turns back to the door and turns the knob, opening the door to the open, dark hallway. He turns his head towards me. “Good Night, Baby Girl.”

I visibly cringe at that stupid pet name. “Good night, Peter.” I reply with no emotion or feeling what-so-ever.

He smiles sadly and nods a little, walking out of my room and closing the door soflty behind him.

I lay back on my bed after a few seconds of staring at the door.

I’ll never be able to forgive him, and he knows that. So, why does he try?