One a.m., and I lay sprawled across my bed, sheets in a whirl, half of my blanket trailing across the floor. My foot hung out lamely over the side, my body hot but my face cold. I sat up groggily, putting on my pair of soft slippers before heading downstairs, using my phone light to guide the way.

The light was on in the kitchen. I stopped, turning my phone off. He was home, I forgot. I let out a sigh and walked in anyways, throat dry. His head lifted suddenly, eyes weary with exhaustion as they met mine for a brief moment.

"I don't want to talk." I murmured loudly, getting myself a glass of water.

"You don't have to talk. Just listen." My father's hands clenched weakly on the island counter.

"I'm tired. I'm going back to bed. Got to get some rest for school, right?" Isn't that what you want?" The last part was uncontrollably bitter. My heart burned with hate. Hate for him, but moreover, hate for me. My heart was covered in iron, I didn't know how much more damage I could take.

He was startled lightly, both of us being brought back to brute memories. The first time I had yelled at him. Right after Mom had died.

"You were never there for us! All you cared about was that everything was perfect. You kept us cooped up in this perfect little house, with your perfect job and your perfect life-I hate you! I hate you I hate you I hate you-!"

The thing was he didn't know. He didn't know. And he never wanted to know. He kept to himself and so I did the same. This overweighing gap between us, he didn't even feel like my father. He hasn't for a long time.

"Look, I just wanted to say that-" he gulped, "that you can talk to me. I know that things were and are difficult, but I just want-"

"I don't want your pity!" I couldn't help but lash out, holding my urge to shove him. His gaze crumbled at my anger. "I don't want your regret, your remorse, your disappointment. I don't want your goddamn pity.

"I want an apology." My voice shook. "I want an explanation. And until you're ready to give me that with all your heart, don't bother trying to make things better. Because let me tell you something, all you're doing is making everything worse."

I couldn't look at his face. I bolted up the stairs to my room two at a time, forgetting my water.

But at that moment, I couldn't really care. I slammed my door shut and flopped back down on my bed, chest welling up and my eyes beginning to water. I forced them open, because if I blinked I knew I wouldn't stop. I let out a parted sigh, burying myself in my blanket.

For some reason, I couldn't help but think of earlier. With Booke and the cafe.

His openness, the way he talked...kind of made me realize, just how much I missed it.

That feeling. The feeling I can't really explain. Maybe I missed being cared for. Having someone to talk to.

I sniffled.

I missed joy.

It felt like everyday was just another obstacle, and for what? More days just like that to come? How long has it been since I laughed? Genuinely? Not a chuckle or a snicker, but a real laugh. One that made your chest light and poked an unbreakable smile on your lips. One that could poke tears through your eyes, the happy ones. Not being able to breathe.

How long? I can't remember.

All the laughs I've had are associated with my mother.

I clutched one of my pillows, chest tight. Eyes shut.

I don't know if I've ever felt more alone.

*"*"*"*"*"*"*"*"*

"The pier? The beach? You know that's like a forty minute drive from here right?" I give him a look. He does this thing when he's nervous, hands fidgeting or feet tapping on the ground, like he's doing now.

"Yeah, I know. I just, thought it'd be a good idea, that's all." He looks disappointed.

"Hey, I never said it wasn't." That's my attempt to cheer him up, and it works, fortunately.

"Well, there's a bunch of stuff there. They have games and rides at the pier, but I thought we could rent some bikes and ride close to the shore. We don't even have to rent bikes, we could walk too, whichever you prefer." He rambles on, and I'm still amused at the fact that he's so optimistic.

"You know what you're asking, right?" He's incredibly easy to tease. "You're asking me to go out with you, non-school hours, doing nothing school related. Are you up for this?"

Upon the realization he gives me a shaking gesture with his hands, laughing nervously.

"Oh no no, I didn't mean it like that. Please don't take it the wrong way."

I can't help but grin.

"You're too easy. But yeah," I chuckled, "I'll go with you."

"Really?"

"Yes."

He looks like he wants to hug me or something out of joy, but restrains himself. I'm kind of glad, I don't know how I'd react with physical contact. I've been dragged out of its familiarness. And I'd hate to push him away, literally.

Booke says something else, but I'm not really listening. There's a part of me that won't stop thinking about the beach, and I don't try to fight it.

I thought this was good until I reread it and realized how cliche it was. Oh well, I'm over it. I'll see you guys next week :)