Hazard: woke up this morning, and I put too much cinnamon in my coffee ):

Hazard: judging by your lack of response, I am going to take the hint ):

Hazard: baby ): I miss you lots. Xx

These are not what I want to wake up too. And secretly, I'm silently happy I am. My lips pout and my
fingers twitch with the need to respond. And I do want to respond. It's just like the True Life episodes. I am Amanda and I'm addicted to the worse possible habit. The only difference is that there is no rehab for this kind of obsession. The only treatment is therapy and I'm already too messed up to make it worse and see a therapist.

Hazard: okay ): I'll stop. I hope you have a good day. I love you. -H. Xx

I may die from the lack of response though. Might have a conniption if Harry uses the 'L' word again.

It's been so strange since I've been here. I'm constantly avoiding my dad, and that right there should have ended a while ago, I know. My mom will give me this disapproving look, like I'm doing something wrong and she knows because she's a mom. It's like her sixth sense. Dad will just shoot me these sad, wounded glances and he'll sometimes open his mouth and then close it before the first syllable can come out.
Ben says it's because my mind is trying to protect it's self and I want to know from what.

I'm fucking home. There is nothing to protect myself from here. But then again, I'm constantly receiving these strange text messages from Harry. That alone is a hazard.

Which is ironic, because that's Harry's contact name.

Life is funny that way...actually, life's a fucking trip.

"Presley, breakfast." My mom has that mom voice that can give you the chills or comfort you no matter the situation. But right now, it's more on edge. Like a silent warning.

So rather than put myself through something like that: "I'm not hungry. Thanks."

It didn't work and my mom is now standing over me with the same disapproving look she's been giving me since I've arrived. "Presley, get down stairs and come eat with us. Your dad thinks you're avoiding him and it's upsetting him."

"I'm not hungry," I repeated. I should have told her I wasn't avoiding dad, but then that'd be lying.

Mom raises her eyebrows challengingly at me. She crosses her arms over her chest and squares her torso at me. "Enough of this attitude. Get your ass down stairs, sit next to your father, eat a damn waffle and apologize."

I gape at my mom. At this point I don't think I'm going to win. I don't think I've ever won, though. "Me not being hungry has nothing to do with dad or my attitude."

"Damn it, Presley." She huffs and plops on my bed. "What is bothering you?"

"Nothing," I guess I am going to lie this morning.

"I understand you're going through hard times-- but that does not give you the right to take it out on your father."

"I know."

"Do you really? Do you know what you're doing to your dad? You're hurting him, Presley. He has no idea why you're being so cold with him, and at this point I don't think you know either."

I spread my arms open and shrug my shoulders up. "I've been trying to tell you that, mom."

"Talk to dad," she says finally. "Be honest with him. He loves you, Presley and right now, he thinks you don't love him."

"Can I have more time?"

"No. Go."

I sigh and march downstairs, bare foot and nervous. I think my mom has retreated back to her room, and I had slightly hoped she'd be there just to make sure I actually speak.

Dad's back is facing me, as he's fussing around on the counter. "How did it go hunny? Should I make her breakfast--or?"

"Depends on what your making me." Dad's back tenses before he turns and gives me a sad smile.

"Waffles. Might even add toppings. Do you want one?" Dad asks slowly. "I can make you one like I used to when you were tiny. With sprinkles and all the other shin-dings?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, mom bought the rainbow ones you like." I smiled and nodded as dad began putting my breakfast together. There is an awkward tension engulfing us. It's so unusual. This is my dad. We've never had this much tension between us and it's my fault. "Mom and I were ta--"

"I'm sorry dad," I interrupt him. He stops his movements and I don't know if it's because he's finished or because he's surprised by my outburst. It could also be because I cut him off rudely. "I'm really sorry dad."
He spins, places my plate with a colorful waffle in front of me and sits. "Presley," he sighs.

"No dad," I take a breath and continue. "I know I hurt your feelings and I didn't mean too. I've been an immature brat, who is scared to tell you why she's being so temperamental." I bow my head and sigh.

"You're scared to tell me?" I nod. "Baby, it's just me. You don't ever have to be afraid to tell me anything. I'm your dad."

"I'm scared that when I tell you, you'll really hate me."

"I could never hate you," he stammers. He grabs my hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Did I do something to upset you? Maybe I said something? Baby, I need you to tell me why you're upset with me."

"You didn't do anything," I mumble. "Dad," I look up and connect our gazes. "I'm not upset with you. I think-- I don't know," I give up.

When did it get so hard to express your emotions? Why can't it all come out at the press of a button?

"Is it just me?"

"It's me being the only child you have left," I slip out. Startled, dad backs away, mouth agape, eyes wide.

"What?" He sputters.

"It's--fuck, this is why I didn't want to say anything," I mutter. "I'm sorry dad."

"No," he shakes his head. "Presley, what are you saying?"

"Every time I'm around you I feel so bad," I confess. My eyes water and my throat constricts. I don't know why I'm crying. I just know I really want too. "You lost Caleb, dad."

"We all did," he says softly. "Sweetheart--"

"Don't you get it? Dad, Caleb was your son. He was actually a part of you, and he's dead. All that's left is me and I'm such a fucking mess! You don't deserve to be known as the father of such a failure."

"Presley--"

"Dad I don't know how to be around you and not feel bad, and I thought that if maybe if I got you too hate me, it wouldn't hurt as bad when you've had enough and leave. But being here and hurting your feelings--it hurts, dad. It hurts a lot. Because you don't owe me anything. You don't have to be in my life anymore."

"Come," dad whispers. I stand with tear stained cheeks and let him sit me on his lap-- and deep down I'm embarrassed that I'm nineteen and still have to be comforted in such a juvenile way, but, I think this time-- I think it's okay.

He squeezes my hand and does his best to wipe the water from my cheeks. "You are a part of me, Presley. You've been mine since I met you. I don't just go around signing adoption papers for just anyone. We all lost Caleb and just because Caleb was mine by blood; doesn't mean you mean any less to me."

"Dad--"

"You are my child." He promises. "I'm your dad and I'm not embarrassed to tell anyone. I will protect you, defend you, I will kill anyone if it means you are safe. You are not a last option Presley. You're my daughter and you have always been my child, even if it's not by blood."

"Yeah?" I sniffle.

"Yes." He smiles and pulls me into a hug. "But the next time you tell your mom to get me to shut up, I will wash your mouth out with soap. Understand?"

"Yeah," I mumble against his shoulder.

"Good. Now go eat your waffle. I have to let mom know you like me best." He grins. I move to the side where my plate rests. I wipe at my face, feeling a tiny bit lighter.

Well, I was. And then my phone vibrated against my plate, and I swear someone filled me with bricks and heavy emotions.

Hazard: I know I don't deserve your forgiveness...

And what I don't understand about people, is that if they know, why do they still think it's okay to bring it up? Why make it worse, when they've done enough?

To Hazard: Then don't ask for it.

Notes

Yesterday, I got my top wisdom tooth removed because it was infected and all I want to do is eat my brother's Lucky Charms, but I have to wait for the milk to make them soft because I can't chew and I'm sad! My face is puffy and I look weird walking around holding a box of Lucky Charms. /).(\

I'm just going to write Harry's return. And eat soft Lucky Charms.