Today is a freebie day, meaning I get to write whatever I would like! My dad is doing a self-analysis of the past week that he won’t be publishing. I am interested in continuing another story like I did yesterday with Day 5.
This is a continuation of Day 7.
He sighs, lifting his head and running a hand through his hair.
“Honestly? I don’t know.”
I can feel the tears at the back of my throat, the loss, the fear. I’ve been with him so long I can’t imagine being with anyone else, even when we’re both so unhappy.
“I don’t know either,” I tell him, curling a little closer.
We sit in silence, neither willing to say the final words, to be the one that pulls the trigger. I try to prepare for it, starting lists of things that will need to be done, discussions that will need to be had, and that’s when the tear strike. I try to keep them to myself, letting them leak from my eyes without blubbering.
“Hey…” he says, tilting my chin up.
I turn my head away, not wanting his comfort, not when we’re so close to separating.
“Baby, please,” he says, gently turning me to face him. “What are you thinking?”
I half smile and exhale, sitting up to face him properly.
“How scared I am,” I tell him. “We’ve been together for so long that I don’t remember how to be alone.”
He sighs, leaning back and cupping his hands behind his head. I can see him thinking, running through those same lists I did, face drawn and tired. Eventually, he sighs, dropping an arm around and pulling me to him.
“Come here, it’s okay,” he murmurs, kissing my head.
It’s the final straw, and the tears come flooding. He holds me while I cry, letting me get all the pain out, soaking his shirt. It feels like hours before I’m spent, eyes getting heavy, exhausted by emotion. I start to doze off, breath deepening, and he squeezes me gently.
“Come on, let’s get you to bed,” he says, sliding up and pulling me off the couch.
He holds my hand, shutting off the game and the TV before leading me upstairs. I follow him, appreciating how caring he is like it’s the first time all over again. We brush our teeth, eyes meeting in the mirror. It’s been a long time since we went to bed at the same time.
We don pajamas and slide into bed. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me close, his breath hot on my ear. I almost cry again, cry for this, for this dying moment that I may never have again. His warmth envelopes me, pushing all thought from my mind til I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. As I doze off, I hear him whisper:
“I’m scared, too.”