Hard Love by Mis Understood (small books to read .txt) 📕

It made me feel stupid and selfish. I assumed she had the money for a dress, she didn’t object to go to the store. Stacey already found her dress. It’s a white silk Georgette dress, it reaches right above her knees. She looks amazing. When she goes back in the dressing room I pull Lena to the corner.

“I don’t tell people this, actually no one knows but Stacey. But I’m very wealthy, I can buy you a dress I won’t mind,” I whisper.

She shakes her said while saying, “No, there’s no need.”

I saw her looking at a specific dress.

“Please, you were my first friend in high school, please let me do this for you.” I give her the best puppy face I have. She looks at me for what seems like hours, when she sighs and gives me a curt nod. I smile as if I won a million bucks.

“Please don’t tell anyone,” she mumbles.

“I promise.”

I walk up to the dress the was looking at. It was a green lace shift dress. It would made her red hair stand out. It will look beautiful on her, Her smile reached up to her eyes, it made me feel less selfish. When she tried it on, it fit her perfectly. I bought Stacey’s and Lena’s dress. The dresses here weren’t for me, so we tried one more store.

We went inside a store called Lilly Pulitzer. Lately, I have been very picky with my clothes, Just because of the fact I don’t want to look to exposed, or like I’m trying too hard. Most things Stace picks out for me, is something more like her. I like comfortable clothes. She like new trends and latest high heels.

I’m looking for something simple but beautiful, Not too flashy and sparkly but still catches people’s attention. Not that I want all the attention, just a specific person. So when Stacey picks out simple but very nice dress hung up all the way up the wall. I call worker to help me get it,

“How may I help you?”

“I want that dress up there?” I point at the white one.  

She grabs a stick and gets the dress that I want.

“This is a nice pick. It’s a Brynn Iridescent Fit and Flare V-neck dress,” she explains. When all of us look at her like she’s speaking a different language. She giggles and says, “The dress. I have a thing for dresses, that’s how I know this specific dress. Anyways would you like to try it on?”

I think about it but then I shake my head. I’m sure if it doesn’t fit me, my mom will help me out. The lady walks to the cash register and scans the dress.

“That will be two hundred and eighty dollars with forty three cents.”

I give her the money.

“Thank you have a great day,” she says with a bright smile.

“You, too.”

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I make it home and go to bed. I text Jude and tell him to wear red bow or vest or whatever boys wear. The dress is white but I’m wearing them with my red Gucci Wedges. I hate wearing pumps, I don’t have much control in them and they hurt my feet very badly. I do know how to walk in them, but I prefer wedges. Tomorrow papi comes from New York, for Thanksgiving. It’ll be the first time I see him in five months. I can’t wait for him to see me.

The last time he saw me, I still had my braces and my hair was unattainable. Would he like the transformation, face to face?

It’s my last thought as I drift off to sleep.

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This chapter isn't much fun but next chapter will be much better─ I hope.

Anyways, thanks for reading! 

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XOXOXO

Chapter 13 [Part 1]: Dave's Thanksgiving

"Please, please forgive me, but I won't be home again. Maybe someday you'll look up, and, barely conscious, you'll say to no one: "Isn't something missing?" You won't cry for my absence, I know - you forgot me long ago. Am I that unimportant? Am I so insignificant? Isn't something missing? Isn't someone missing me?" -Evanescence

I hate holidays. All of them!  I detest them from the bottom from my heart to the blood running in my veins. It’s Thanksgiving. Most people love it because of the food. Or maybe because they very happy family unites. They have mom and dads who have been married for years, filled with cousins, and kids running around. Or maybe they just for the simple fact that it’s a freaking holiday. Well, I hate it, it’s that simple. Or complicated; whichever way you want to see. But ever since my mom and dad split, nothing has ever been the same.

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From three to six I spend Thanksgiving with my dad. Well, it depends. He’s a workaholic. So he might not even come over. So I end up eating with the housekeeper and the cooker. They could leave when they’re done but they stay with me until six. I like Yamil and Julia, I may not talk to them much. But since I was thirteen- the time my parents split- they’re the only adults I speak to in this house. Not all the time but here and there, when it’s necessary.

I wake up at two in the afternoon. I take long shower, trying to kill some time. I get out at two-thirty.  I shave completely, he says only ‘bums’ wear beards. When I was younger, like sixteen, I always shaved. But now, since he’s never around, I let it grow.

After I am done shaving, I only have ten minutes to get ready. I take out some Tommy Hilfiger khaki pants and a white Tommy Hilfiger  button down shirt. I decide to wear  my tan Nautica dress shoes. The shoes my dad buys me. The shoes I keep in my closet because I hate them so much. The ones I have to wear when he’s around.

When I put my clothes and shoes on, I forget that I have to do my hair. It’s two-fifty-nine and if he makes it and I’m late, it’s gonna be a problem. I spent the last two Thanksgiving waiting for him. He never came, so maybe I’ll be lucky this year.

I put Gel on my hair, more than usual. I take the comb, split my hair and comb it back. Just like my dad taught me. I hate this. I like my hair, the way I do it. Now, I look like some preppy arrogant kid that has money. When I’m done, I go downstairs and I see half the table. It is filled with food. Food that will go to waste because we won’t be able to eat it all. I walk in the kitchen. I see him. My dad. He’s looking at his watch, his jaw is twitching, eyebrows knitted together.

‘FUCK!’

“About fucking time,” he runs his fingers filled with thick gold rings, through his blonde hair. I got my dark hair from my mom.

“What have I told you about being on time. If I say be here at three, then you better be here at two-fifty-nine,” He slams his face against the glass table. A plate falls, Yamil flinches. I wanna grab him by the neck and tell him all the Thanksgivings he has missed.

“I’m glad you can make it dad,” I walk over calmly to sit in front of him.

“What the fuck did you say?” His breath reeks of Jack Daniels. Did I forget to mention other than being a workaholic, he also an alcoholic?

This is going to get bad. But let me get one thing straight, I’m not scared of my dad.

“I said, I’m glad you can make it,” I get the cloth that’s folded on the table and lay it across my lap.

He does the same.

“What’s that suppose to mean?”

“Nothing.”

Julia serves us. Rice, turkey, stuffing, cranberry sauce, and Mash potatoes with turkey gravy. She accidentally spills some on my dads lap.

“What the fuck? Can’t any employee do anything right?” He grabs her by the arms and shoves her. That’s when I realize how drunk he is. Julia is on the floor cupping her arm.

“Dad, come to bed.” I touch his shoulder. He shrugs my hand off. He kneels down and takes Julia by the shoulder.

“You’re out! Take all your shit and leave with him, Mia!”

Mia is moms name.

Julia is shaking, her tears fall. Seeing her like that makes me think of Jazielly. Something snaps in me. I push my dad off of her.

“Go home, Julia. Tell Yamil that t─

His punch hits me right in my jaw knocking me down. He gets on top of me. I manage a 'GO!' to Julia and she runs away while my dad punches me, drunkenly. I cross my arm on my face, blocking him. I want to hit him back but I don’t. I know I can beat him, but he needs to let his anger out. So I let him. His eyes are far away, like he’s seeing someone else. Not his son. Then after three punches he stops. His green eyes look back at mine. Recognition runs through his eyes.

He cries like a baby and hugs me. I let him hug me but I don’t hug him back because I’m angry. Few seconds later, I help him up and we wobble into his room. I lay him in bed, take off his shoes and take off his blazer.

“I’m sorry,” He says sleepily.

“Sleep dad.”

I don’t tell him it’s okay, because it is far away from okay. I close the door when I walk out. I got upstairs and repeat the process. Take a shower, get ready, and off to my moms house.  

Man, I hate holidays.

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My mom greets me at the door like everything is normal. Like My jaw isn’t swollen, or like she never left my dad for a younger man. A man that was like my family until he betrayed me. She hugs me like she has to, not because she wants to. She used to hug me until I couldn’t breath, with so much warmth. I look at her eyes, but see that she’s sober.

‘Thank God’

“Come on in, David.” She gestures with her manicured hands. I walk in.

A tall man, with ginger hair and a full beard is on the couch. A beer in his hand. His pupils dilating, his knees are jumping up and down. He sees me, he stands up as if he’s been electrocuted by Apollo. My anger is rising, but I try to stay calm. He walks over and tries to hug me like if everything was dandy between us. I step back, and clear my throat.

“Still angry with me, son?” Ryan asks. His eyes filled with humor, but there’s nothing funny about this situation. I used to let him call me ‘son’. That was before everything.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” I spat.

“Language,” my mom says. She doesn’t look at me while saying it, she’s looking at herself in the tiny mirror