THIRTY-ONE
LEO
Istop the strumming on my guitar. My voice echos till silence invades my room. Placing my guitar down, I run a hand over my face. I stare at the paper below me; it taunts me. I should have come up with an entire song by now. But I can’t wrap my head around any words. My brain is swarming with ideas that don’t mesh together well.
Dad keeps calling and texting. He never asks how we are. He just gets straight to the point and asks about my songwriting. I only answer him bluntly, giving him less information, the more he calls. The guy gets on my nerves. He’s only around when he benefits from it. Father of the Year goes to him.
Placing my elbows on my desk, I lean forward and hold a pencil in front of me. Gripping it in both of my hands, I snap it, imagining my father’s face. The wood breaks in the middle. I watch as it falls to the desk below me. Leaning back, I cross my arms across my chest.
My eyes immediately focus on Trinity’s house. The only person who makes me feel safe is in there, and I can’t even see her. It’s getting severely aggravating that her mom is still keeping us away from each other. What a childish thing to do.
I can’t handle this bullshit. At this rate, I won’t see her until I leave for LA. I’m leaving very soon. Our time together is flying by so fast. I wish I could slow down time. But that’s impossible. I need to be with my girlfriend before I leave or else what’s the point of dating one another?
I perk up in my chair when I notice a guy exit Trinity’s front door. Narrowing my eyes, I grip the edge of my desk tightly. I can’t see him clearly. No matter how much I squint, he still remains blurry. My eyesight is getting bad. Yet from my bedroom window, I can tell he’s young.
Is it her ex? No, no, it can’t be. Trinity’s the most loyal person I’ve ever met.
“Honey?” Mom’s soft voice says from behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I find her by my bedroom door. “Are you hungry?”
I eye the food in her hands. Clapping my hands, I rub them together with a stupid smirk on my face. Mom walks over to me and places the plate full of Greek food in front of me. I watch as the steam travels up in the air before evaporating.
“How’s the writing going?” she asks and peers over my shoulder at the lyrics.
Her hands grip the notebook tightly. I watch anxiously as her eyes take in my writing. Mom is the only one I let read my writing before I send it out to the team. I trust her input; I know she wants only the best for me.
“What’s the problem?” she asks a minute later and drops it in front of me.
I glance up at her blankly. That’s all she’s got to say?
“You don’t like it?”
“It’s amazing.” She beams down at me. Running a hand through my hair, she pinches my cheeks.
“Mom,” I whine and move my face away from her.
“What?” she asks and tries to grab my face again.
“Mom, stop,” I yell playfully and push her hands away from me. “I’m not a baby.”
“You’re my baby,” she replies and places her hands on her hips, giving me the classic mom look.
“You talk as if I were five.”
“You have the brain of a five-year-old.”
Touché.
She laughs and points toward the food. “Eat your food before it gets cold.”
Picking up my fork, I stuff a cucumber in my mouth, chewing slowly as I process her words. I guess she’s right. I’m not okay in the head. Ever since that night, Mom has been watching over me like a hawk. She treats me as if I were a baby, like I might explode and turn to pills any second. I’ve explained countless times that I would never try to overdose again. For God’s sake, I haven’t touched a single pill in four years. Yet she still doesn’t believe me fully. I can see it in her eyes.
Mom shows us every day how much she truly loves us. She’s the best mom I could have ever asked for. At the end of the day, when I get frustrated, I tell myself she comes from a place with love.
Making her way to the door, she halts suddenly, gaining my attention. Turning around, she stares at me with a motherly look. “I need to ask you something.”
Crossing my arms, I nod at her.
“When are you going to tell that poor girl who you really are?”
