Come Back to Me

Dylan Davis

I am woken up by the strong rays of sun that penetrate through my window.

Abby's body is moulded to mine while she sleeps peacefully, with her head resting on my chest.

Usually, I love having her like this but it's too hot this morning. Even if it's still early, I'm a sweaty mess and her body heat only adds to my discomfort. Especially after last night.

It happens more times than I'd like to admit. And deep down there's a part of me that's happy I'll leave for college today because I don't know if I could go through this almost every single day.

I mean, I am sure we will argue even more once I'm there but the fact that we're not going to be close physically brings me some weird kind of comfort. It gives me some mixed feelings.

Because it shouldn't bring me comfort. I feel extremely guilty about it because I love this girl to death.

However, it's a never-ending cycle. We argue. I lose my temper and yell at her. She cries and I feel guilty. Then I apologize and we end up making love.

I know it's become toxic over the last couple of years but she's also my best friend and I love her.

So, I'll do everything in my power to make this work. To try and make her happy, the best I can. That's what I've been taught to do in a relationship, that's what my parents do.

I aim to have a relationship like they have. To be as in love and dedicated as they are.

I need to get up and make breakfast, staying here and wallowing will only worsen my mood.

With a sigh, I disentangle myself from her. Slowly, so she doesn't wake up.

Holding her head, I put my pillow underneath so it supports her, just like my chest was doing a minute ago. And she didn't even stir.

I put on some shorts and a t-shirt before leaving the bedroom. Usually, I walk around the house in boxers. The only woman in the house is my mom, and she doesn't mind but Abby does. She doesn't like me walking around almost naked, as she says so I got used to dressing something.

As I come down the stairs, heading to the kitchen, I see some movement from the corner of my eye and notice my dad groaning on the couch.

Did he sleep there or has he just arrived from the hospital? I thought he was having a few days off to help out with my moving.

Automatically I walk up to him and touch his shoulder, to see if he is awake or sleeping. He opens his eyes slightly startled but it vanishes as soon as he sees me.

"Good morning son," He mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

"Why are you down here? was there a night emergency at the hospital?"

"No, ahm, your mom had a nightmare and I came down here."

Mom sometimes has them.

It was pretty often when I was younger. But when I was six, dad found us and when they finally got together, slowly her nightmares disappeared into nothing.

After that, the only time she would have them was during Jeremy and Wilder's pregnancies. The hormones took a toll on her. Dad had to sleep on the couch almost every single day, back then.

It was harsh on them, but never once did I see my father get fed up with it. She would get up and have everything done. I would be taken care of and breakfast would be ready. A few years later, I started helping dad out, especially during Wilder's pregnancy.

I was already fourteen so, I was already old enough to know what to do.

I ask. "That hasn't happened in a long time. Do you know what might have happened?"

"Well, something could have triggered it. A commercial, a book, a movie." He sighs but then clenches his jaw to add. "You know it's never truly gone..."

Yeah, I don't know personally, but from what I've grown up with. I know.

She was never a bad mom. She was always the best, but I remember her getting on edge, or crying quite often and sometimes she would come to my bed in the middle of the night when she had nightmares.

I was and still am her safe place. Dad is too but when she gets like that touch becomes a hard limit. And when that happens, there are only three males that can touch her: me and my brothers.

It hurts him, but I know that he understands that it's not her having something against him. It's her brain taking over and she doesn't know how to stop it.

Trauma is fucked up.

"Well, I hope it doesn't get worse and as often as it used to be. Especially now that I'm going to leave for college. " I comment.

"Don't worry son, just give her one of those tight hugs that she loves once she's down here. You know it will put her in a better mood just like nothing happened. " He says, patting my back.

"Of course I will. Always. " I reassure him.

"And she'll survive your absence, she still has me." He counters and I laugh. "But we'll still miss you though." His eyes soften when he grabs my shoulder with a sad smile.

Everyone's sad that I am leaving for college. They make me feel like I am going halfway around the world when in reality I'll only be three hours away from here.

"Man up Davis, no time for pussies in this house." I punch his arm and he laughs.

"Language Dylan, you can be nineteen but I can still beat your ass up."

"I'd like to see you try old man," I push him onto the couch and run towards the kitchen.

He catches me just as I reach it, grabbing my neck pushing me under his arm and ruffling my hair

"You're fucking lucky I love you, you brat." He ruffles one last time and lets me go.

"You're just afraid," I look at him smugly.

"I am hungry," he scoffs, offended.

"Sure, sure,"

We both end up laughing and eventually start cooking breakfast. It's easy and we're used to doing it now and then. Not even fifteen minutes later, we have the table full of food for all six of us.

"I am going to wake Abby up," I tell him, heading for the stairs.

My mom is climbing down the stair just as I reach them. She is slightly paler than usual and has a dark bag underneath her eyes, proof that she hasn't slept all night long.

Even with those, she's still beautiful with all the freckles covering her nose and cheeks and framing her dark brown eyes. Her dark brown hair is messy like it is every morning.

I don't look like her, not at all, and the only thing I inherited from her was the hair colour. Everything else came from my dad. The blue eyes, the tanned skin and certainly the height and build.

"Come here, mom," I beckon to her, with opened arms.

She doesn't even hesitate, wrapping hers around my waist and burying her head on my chest.

"My sweet baby, how am I going to survive these nights without your hugs?" Her voice is shaky and thick with emotion.

"Come on mom," I chuckle. "I am not going that far. I know you'll go visit every weekend that I can't come home. And you know I'll come home every weekend that I can."

She squeezes me tight.

"Besides, Jeremy and Wilder will hug you for me,"

She chuckles and nods while patting my cheek.

"I am proud of you baby. Go wake Abby up so we can have some breakfast." She says and I nod.

As I turn to climb up the stairs I stop short, once again.

Abby is standing at the top of the stairs, fully dressed, with makeup and hair done as well. I jump two steps at a time and wrap my arm around her waist and pull her close.

"Good morning baby," I whisper before leaning down to kiss her.

But she turns her face away before I can.

"What's wrong?" I ask with a frown.

She disentangles herself from touch and hugs herself.

"You left me alone." She whines.

My eyes widen at her statement.

"What do you mean babe? You were sleeping, I came downstairs to make some breakfast."

"You know I don't like it when you leave me alone. I am not comfortable," she mumbles.

"Yeah Abby, and we've argued about this a ton of times. You have come here since you were five, you've slept here for years now. Is there anyone making you uncomfortable? Did anyone tell you anything?"

"No, but-"

"Then I don't get it," I exclaim exasperated. "You leave me in your bedroom alone for hours. You've left me alone in your living room for hours while locked in your closet with the girls to choose a fucking outfit and never once did I get angry at you."

We had the same fucking argument yesterday. All because I fucking took too long to fetch some water, for talking with my mom.

"It's different there and you know it!" She stomps her foot.

She has always done that when something doesn't go her way. I used to think it's cute but really, lately has been annoying the hell out of me.

"Fuck yes, it's different. In here you have my mom and dad who watched you grow up and adore the hell out of you while in your house I am usually by myself waiting for you." I blurt without thinking.

Her eyes turn shiny with the tears I know I've provoked and I curse to myself mentally.

The situation at her home has always been a touchy subject ever since her parents got a divorce.

"Abby," I start but she cuts me off.

"No, you've been clear enough." Her soft voice is shaky. "I am sorry that no one likes me enough, not even you."

With that, she storms out of the house.

Fuck.

"Take her home Dylan, I don't want her walking around by herself." My mom tells me, with her head popping out from the kitchen door.

I nod, pick the car keys up and go after her.

"Abby, come here, I'll take you home," I call after her.

She stops and turns around with tears streaming down her face. It wasn't even that bad of an argument, I don't get why she gets like this every single time.

"I don't want you to take me home."

"Okay, tell me what do you want, I'll do it." I grab her hand and pull her to me, hugging her.

She melts into my embrace and cries even harder onto my chest.

"I want you to love me," She mumbles to my chest.

"You're so silly sometimes Abby, you know I am crazy for you. I love you." I cradle her face and peck on her lips once, then twice.

Abby is my best friend since we were five. As we grew older, our feelings changed and at fifteen we started dating. We're almost nineteen now and our fourth anniversary is approaching.

She's the only girl I've ever been with, the only girl I've had feelings for.

Even though she sometimes doubts it.

"I love you too," She whispers.

"Come on, let me take you for breakfast. I'll be the last time before I leave tonight." I pull her hand to the car and she doesn't fight on it but I can sense the tension by how quiet she is that reminding her of me leaving soured her mood, again.

And I was right because it led to another argument in the car, and another one in her house. Then we fucked - or made love like she always calls it - and made up.

Only to argue once again in the evening because I didn't stay with her longer when my parents called me telling me they were waiting for me so we could leave.

And as I leave my childhood home, towards my uncle's house, where I'll be staying while in college, I wonder if we are going to make it through all of the odds, just like my parents did.