SÁBADO
10:04 PM

Reid Harlow

I could hear the spontaneous laughter coming from downstairs. While Fridays were reserved for the entire family to get together and have a fulfilling dinner—Saturdays were reserved for games, activities and sports outings.

I decline this week's Friday dinner, deciding to be holed in my room. It was better than going downstairs and having to greet everyone and entertaining another enlightening conversation with Claudia. Plus, there was also Nini too, and I didn't feel too keen on having to face her again.

I thought I was going to go to bed hungry—as I usually do at other homes when I refuse to meet for dinner—but that night, Presley came upstairs with a plate bearing all of that night's meal.

Now, it's Saturday. Instead of attending a family fun-day downstairs and play a round of charades, I'm sitting in my room, alone, and it's not too bad.

I had a book in my lap—about some classic philosophy—and I had a couple pieces of paper by my side. I don't draw, but in the middle of a boring page, I take the paper and begin to fold it.

I wasn't some origami genius where I could make a fucking dragon out of one notebook paper—but I had enough technique to make a flower. It wasn't the best flower in the world, and it was a little crinkled on the edges, but it was enough to assume the looks of one.

Out of boredom, I made three of them.

I heard footsteps ascending up the stairs and I quickly shove all the paper flowers to the side, covering them with my pillow. At that moment, I heard the door creak open but it wasn't from my bedroom—and instead, I hear a familiar voice offering a lullaby goodbye to Ariah.

"'Night, Ariah." I hear Presley said, before the little girl replies with sleepiness etched in her voice. The door creaks close, and I thought that was the end of it before my own bedroom door slams open.

"Jesus Christ," I swore, placing a hand on my racing heart. Presley enters through the door, looking sweaty as hell, as if he's been running around the house. "Do you fucking have to make a dramatic entrance every time?"

"Why weren't you at family game day?" Presley prompts, coming closer to me as he studies the book in my lap and hopefully, not the origami flowers hiding underneath my obvious pillow.

"I didn't want to," I said, knowing lying about it wasn't going to get me anywhere. I'm a terrible liar anyway. "It's not my family to begin with."

Presley releases a heavy sigh without saying anything, and he looks away from me with rippling agitation on his features.

Good, I thought. Get mad at me. Swear at me, do some fucking terrible thing or say something so hurtful that I could give myself a solid reason why I shouldn't join this family. Why I don't belong here.

Fucking do it.

Yet, Presley remains silent. He stares off to the wall, his eyes falling on the trophy shelves hanging on his side of the room. His eyes taking everything in.

"Nini said you have to do the grocery shopping next week," Presley announces, his voice impassive. For a second, he almost sounds like me. He turns to meet my gaze. "Everyone in the family has to contribute. Nini and Sebastian will give you money."

"They're really going to trust the fucking new kid to carry their money?"

"Is there any reason not to?" Presley cocks a brow at me, his words hitting with more directiveness. I'm just waiting for him to crack up and say something hurtful to me. "You're going to take Nico with you. He likes going grocery shopping."

I roll my eyes. "So it's basically free babysitting?"

"Harlow," Presley commands, his voice stern. "It's just a chore. It's not like you have to change his diapers every hour and breastfeed him. Just hold his hand and grab the stuff. That's all."

I press my lips into a thin line, having no other excuse to comeback with. With a defeated sigh, "whatever."

"And you're coming to dinner next week, and game day." Presley adds on quickly, to which I open my mouth to object, he cuts in short. "No excuses. I will get Claudia and we will physically drag you out of your bed if we have to."

He's coming close to snapping.

"I'd like to see you fucking try," I challenge.

"Harlow, you're being a real dickhead right now and it's not cool," Presley said, exhaling sharply. He's regaining control of his emotions, his words becoming more stable. "I know you don't want to talk about your past and you don't like us, but you still live with us. We're not trying to hurt you and we're definitely not going to kick you out to the next home. You're stuck here. Get used to it."

This is annoying. This is pointless. No matter how much I'm trying to rile him up, make him snap—he's not budging. None of them are. Claudia clapbacks with remarks, Nini just stays silent and Presley takes control of his emotions.

They're not... proving me right.

"I'm going to take a shower," Presley declares, ending our moment of silence. I don't say anything and he took this as his opportunity to move ahead. He points to the door. "Don't make too much noise. Ariah is kind of having a bad day and she just wants to go to sleep. Don't do something stupid."

I drop my gaze to the book in my lap, pressing my lips together before I issue a nod. I don't know what Presley did afterwards, but I heard him exit from the room and subsequently leaving me alone in my thoughts.

I slap the book close, pushing it onto the surface of my desk. I force myself out of the bed and begin to search for my cigarettes, scavenging around my bed for a strange bulge underneath the mattress. I almost forgot where I hid them, but then remember the pillow.

Underneath the pillow unveils the paper flowers I forgot I hid, and two out of the three have been crushed. The last one standing, with a little more crinkle to its edges than the rest, stayed perfectly fine. I found my cigarette box near the edge of it.

I check inside for its contents and find that there's only one more left, which means that I need to buy a new box. The next thought that's prompted is with what money, but that's a problem for tomorrow. I shove the box into my pocket and with one step towards the door—I stop.

I look back at the flower laying on my bed and hesitate. I debate if I should throw away the flower or burn it—but instead, I take it into my hand and carefully shove it into my other pocket.

I step out into the hallway; the laughter has since died out into a muffled conversation, and I could barely interpret what they're saying. I glance to my right, seeing Ariah's room from the corner of my eyes with the door slightly creaked open and a night light shining through the slit.

I pull my lips together and decide on a detour; heading off to Ariah's room as I approach with precaution. I slowly step towards the crack, not wanting to budge up and be forced to enter a conversation.

To the left of her door, I see her dresser. It's decorated with toys, stationary items, and books. I pull out the paper flower.

I slip the flower in between the cracks, and drop it onto one of the textbook. It made it without falling, and I was content with that. I take the doorknob and pull the door to the latch, closing it completely shut.

I turn around.

I head downstairs and towards the foyer, slipping into my shoes. I exit from the door and the gust of wind blows against me the moment I step out. It was colder today.

Whatever.

I close the door behind me and head down the sidewalk, stuffing both my hands into my pockets as I pull my hood up. I could remember the pathway to the park by this point, and in a couple of minutes, I reach the bench I usually always take.

I look around, trying to see if anyone was around—and if Dahlia was here too—but I found the park completely deserted. With that in mind, I take out the last cigarette from the box and use the lighter I always keep stored in my pockets to light it.

It was late. I knew that.

It was probably nearing midnight at this point, and the weather is freezing tonight. I wouldn't be surprised if I didn't see her.

But my mind wandered to what if I did see her.

I could imagine her unruly locks, framing her face. I could imagine how she would come up to me and ask me to move, or make a snarky comment about how smoking is bad for me. There's no in-between. The only problem is that I can never predict which outcome I would get.

Sometimes, she would just come and sit down next to me, ignoring me completely; other times, she would make a comment. It flips.

I let out a puff of smoke, shaking the thought from my head. With one inhale, the nicotine registers into my system and a pleasurable sensation roams my body.

I took a couple more drags, the low whistle of the wind being the only source of sound in my ears.

I hear the sound of leaves crunching and my head whips to my side.

I'm almost surprised.

Like I said before, whenever I see Dahlia, there's going to be two moods she'll present: quiet and soft, or daring and brave. There's no in-between.

Until this time, she comes in crying.

━━━━━

AVA'S NOTES

and we have now hit the arc. well, one of them.
thanks for sticking this long; i'm really grateful that you guys are reading my stories and commenting and voting and telling me your thoughts. i love reading it. ❤️

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