12 | damsel in waiting-2

With a smile, the first of that day, I shook my head. "It's alright. Just cover up for me when I'm not at the shack later." "Got it," he promised, and after giving his hand a grateful squeeze, I left. It was a beautiful day, one of the best I'd seen all summer. The sun was shining fiercely, but the wind was cool against my cheeks. But I could hardly appreciate it, any of it, especially since my nerves were tingling with leftover worry that somehow couldn't ever fade away. I'd been this way since I'd met Miles, and the feeling hadn't ever stopped, not for a moment. There was hardly any traffic as I made my way to Miles's house, and so I got there in good time. I'd just rounded the driveway leading to his porch when the door opened and a familiar figure stepped out. A part of me wanted to hide away immediately, but no - it was too late, and I stifled a groan as the person spotted me. The expression on his face was stoic and unusually calm, which made me all the more uneasy. "Good morning, Miss Evers," Miles's father greeted, "didn't expect to see you here so early." My jaw slackened in surprise. "You remember me?" "It's rather difficult to forget the face of the girl who practically ran away from my house just a month ago with her brother," he returned dryly, not a hint of a smile on his face. "Yes, I-I apologise for that, Ean was feeling under the weather that day." And now I was stammering. Maybe being in his presence tended to have that effect. Clearing my throat, I squared my shoulders and tried to meet his gaze. "I'm here to see Miles. Has he returned yet?" His eyebrows knitted together, and there was that grim, taut line of his lips that made me squirm. "He left early this morning and he hasn't." It was difficult not to let that flicker of disappointment show. Still, I tried to keep my emotions in check and smiled at him politely. "Thank you. I'll just be waiting here then." "You could wait inside - " "No, just here's fine, thank you." The thought of being in Miles's house without Miles was sort of unnerving. "I promised him I'd wait here." He surveyed me for a brief moment before managing a curt nod. "Alright then. Have a nice day, Miss - " "Please, call me Darcy." " - Evers," he reiterated, firmly, before walking past me and heading down the driveway. Then he paused in his footsteps, turning around slowly. "I hope I'm not being too blunt with this question, Miss Evers, but are you and my son dating?" My mouth fell open again, and I hastily shut it. "We - " but what were we again? We were on the same page, that was for sure, but were else? I hardly liked to put a label on it - it seemed so definitive. " - well, we both have feelings for each other," I concluded simply. "I thought so," he replied, calmly. And then, equally as calmly, without so much as a blink, he continued, "you should know, however, that I don't approve of this - you, if I'm being completely honest." My heart sank a little at his comment. I was, after all, well aware that Miles and his family and all his problems were in a package. Getting Mr Callaghan to like me was actually one of the small problems within the bigger picture, and I couldn't help but feel disheartened that he didn't. "That's okay, sir," I found myself saying instead, and I surprised even myself at the steadiness of my voice. "This might sound impertinent, and I apologise beforehand for it, but I don't approve of you being Miles's father either." There was a fleeting glimpse of surprise in his eyes and I pushed on. "But he can't choose who he wants his father to be, just like how he can't choose who he wants to fall in love with." "The both of you are really in love, then?" His reply had come so quickly that I faltered. No, no we weren't. It was far too soon for love or any sort of ridiculous notion. "Do you know how much Miles loves you? And how much he's had to go through for you?" I asked abruptly. It was blunt, but the words had come too swiftly and I needed to turn the tables on him before I found myself floundering again. His eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "I beg your pardon?" "If you'd just look at him for once, maybe you'd understand," I said, softly. The expression on his face was an odd one, a fleeting moment of hesitation and curiosity that made me wish to retract my statement. But it was said and done, and I held his gaze as best as I could. "Nice meeting you, sir." "Same to you, Miss Evers." He walked away and I watched his departing figure with an uneasy feeling in my chest. Perhaps I had said far too much. I didn't really know much about the relationship between Miles and his father, except that it was strained. Nevertheless, as I thought about seeing Miles the other day after his argument with his father, I couldn't help but think that maybe it needed to be said. Maybe some things were not better left unsaid, and there came a time where we could no longer let emotions fester and grow within us. With a sigh, I shut my eyes for a brief moment and lowered myself onto the upper step of the porch. It didn't take long before familiar footsteps rounded the driveway, and then Miles was there. Immediately, I shot up and ran to him. "Are you alright?" I demanded, before falling a step back when a putrid stench hit me so hard I almost felt nauseous. "What happened?" On a closer look, I realised that he was covered in grime and some odd, slimy liquid. Chips of eggshells and other miscellaneous things I couldn't quite decipher. I didn't want to either. He smiled tiredly. "They dumped stuff on us. If we made a noise or stumbled, we were out. I got through, I guess, because next thing I know they were congratulating me." That was it? I frowned slightly before wrapping my fingers around his arm and leading him back to the house. He navigated me through his house, upstairs, where his room was. When we were in his bathroom, I gently pushed him down on the edge of the bathtub. Settling down on my knees in front of him, I began to pick arbitrary bits and fragments out of his hair. "Well, you passed," I told him cheerfully, "so that's always a good thing. You did great - " But I was stopped when Miles caught my wrist, pulling me away gently. "Aren't you disgusted by this?" I paused for awhile and thought about what I'd seen and experienced all my life. My hyperactivity. Miles's trouble getting through high school. The Hell Weeks. The way we all got swept away and lost ourselves in it. How the Hell Weeks probably didn't end there, not for everyone at least; for there was always going to be a harsher place to fit into, a crueller world to live in, a more brutal lens to judge people with and to be judged with. Somehow, trash seemed vastly trivial compared to everything else. "It's just trash," I said gently, pressing my palms to his cheeks and brushing the pads of my thumbs across his skin. "Nothing disgusting about that."