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evangeline blackwood

I adore my Dad with everything in me.

But the one thing I can't stand is how he acts like I've just not seen him for a day or two when it's been 7 months.

It's always the same routine when he comes home. He comes to the house, speaks to me and then Atlas. Leaves. Comes back in a few days, takes one of us out for an hour and then the next day he's gone. It's been that way my entire life.

He's been in the army for years. I think he joined when he was 17 and he's been training and getting deployed ever since.

It's pitiful that my own father doesn't even really know me. Yeah, he knows that I was born at 12:45, on a Sunday, he knows I'm 18, he knows I want to be a writer.

He doesn't know that my heart aches every time I hear a thunderstorm lingering outside my bedroom window, how my pulse rises and my throat closes. He doesn't know how, sometimes, I long to be outside when it's raining. Not because I like the cold or how it feels. I love it. I love that, no matter how peaceful it can be at times, even the sky needs to scream and break and pour. He doesn't know how I adore how the sky roars and flashes. He doesn't know that the only type of weather that I truly appreciate is a storm in which everything, but the rain, is silent. How it makes everything get a bit blurry. How it makes me feel like I'm not alone.

My father thinks that he knows me, just because he shares my blood and is aware of these seemingly minor aspects of my existence.

He doesn't know my fears, my hopes, my dreams. He's never stayed long enough to find out.

"Can I have some more, Evie?"

I snapped back into reality, glancing at Atlas's empty tub. "Don't you think you've had enough, kiddo?"

He shakes his head dramatically, staring up at me with his wide, green eyes.

Pushing my own ice cream tub towards him, I smile as his own lips tug up at the gesture. "Never say I don't give you anything."

"Thank you." He starts eating it without hesitating before pausing he's almost halfway done with it. "Why don't you want it?"

"Not hungry."

"It's ice cream." He deadpans.

"So?"

"You can never not be hungry for ice-cream, duh." He rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the Cookies n Cream ice cream.

I try to look optimistic but my mind strays elsewhere to my previous thoughts. Dad's literally been back for the first time in ages and he couldn't even bother to take Atlas out himself.

We had that heartfelt reunion, with all the tears. But when Jonah was alive, we'd spend the entire night out. Cinema, 24 hour bowling, ice skating. We'd do everything.

Fuck it, man. No point getting twisted over something I can't control.

"C'mon, kid. We'll go to the park." I gesture to the door, getting up and heading out with my little brother by my side.

We walk in silence. The only sound greeting the air being our slow breathing.

"Evan?" Hesitance weeps into his voice and I grab his hand as I cross the road, squeezing it to show him he doesn't need to worry about anything. "You know like Dad's in the army?"

"Yeah?"

"And we don't see him that much?"

"Mhm hmm."

"Why doesn't he take us out like Mums do? Or come see us more when he's home."

We're at the park now, he's climbed on the swingset and is just staring at me expectantly.

"Dad tries his best, it's just hard." I bite my lip, sitting on the asphalt adjacent to the swings.

Atlas just nods his head, "I get it. But Mums both do it."

"Everyone deals with things differently." God, why do kids ask so many questions??

I get it, I do. But how the fuck am I going to explain the concept of grief to a 9 year old?

"Evan."

"Yeah?"

"There's a boy over there who keeps looking at you."

I turn my head so quickly that I swear I get whiplash.

The boys wearing blue mechanic overalls, splattered in black oil, with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. There's a bottle of Jack Daniels Whiskey in his hand and his striking blue eyes are staring directly at me, his gaze not waving once it's clear that I know he's looking solely at me.

He runs his fingers through his brown hair. Even from a distance, I could see the drunken shimmer in his eyes. Adonis is sat on the grass near the small playground in the park. He's alone.

"Go, E."

"Nah, Mums would kill me if I left you alone." I shrug, moving my gaze back to my brother who's rolling his eyes.

I hate kids so much. Especially those awkward ones who are just cheeky and talkative.

Atlas was definitely both.

"I was going to go back home anyways. We literally live there." He jumps off the swing without hesitation and walks away without another word. I watch him leave the park and wait until I see our house door shut before I go to sit next to Adonis.

Pausing for a second, I try to hype myself up for going over to him.

I don't get why he's sat in the park drinking on his own.

"Hey, Evan."

Turns out I don't need to move.

He sits down beside me, stumbling lightly which I can judge is due to the alcohol consumption.

My heart suddenly started beating faster in my chest and I swear I almost lose my breath.

"Alright, Adonis." I nod, tugging my lips up for a second.

"Why do you call me that, man? It's Donnie." He mutters, yawning but grinning at the same time.

The bottle of Jack is nearly empty.

"Donnie isn't your name." I point out, rolling my eyes. "Your name is Adonis."

His smile widens, his eyes drift to the floor as they begin to wrinkle with unjustified happiness. "Wow."

My eyebrows furrow.

"What?"

"I love when you say it."

"Donnie or Adonis?" I ask.

He doesn't reply, his eyes closing fully as he leans back onto the floor. He's got dimples.

He has dimples.

It's, without a second of doubt, the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed.

And I swear down, I wished I'd never noticed them.

Something in my heart is breaking, it feels like fear but the taste in my mouth speaks only of panic. I don't want to ever see someone else like this, like someone that I could like in a way beyond friends. The last person I fell like this towards turned into an abusive, manipulative bastard and I refuse to ever put myself through the pain of a heartbreak again.

This isn't right at all.

I know he wouldn't be anything like Julian. Morgan wouldn't fuck with him if he was.

I bite my lip, "Where's Morgan?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "Got an assignment or some shit."

"Really?" I raise my eyebrows, "He missed out on a piss up for homework?"

"Course, that's him. He's like the smartest person I know, an' he grafts for it."

"He's a good one," I say softly, making him chuckle.

"I can't wait for him to get out of this shit, man." The dimples are back again and my stomach flutters at the overwhelming pride etched onto his face as he speaks about his best friend.

"What shit?"

"You know what 'the trap' is?" Our eyes lock, I nod. "That. I don't want him to get stuck here and not be able to get out. Once you're in, it's like you can't escape. Morgs doesn't deserve that."

"No one does." My gaze falls, I lean onto the grass beside him. "Just one of them things, innit."

"Nah, it really ain't. People just say that to excuse their own laziness. People complain about how their life goes but they don't even try to stop it. Morgan deserves to get out, it's a waste if he sticks around here with the head he's got." 

"Yeah, I guess. He'll get to where he wants to go." 

"How you feeling? About the whole Parks being a dickhead situation?" 

I frown, "Fine."

His eyes seem to zero in on me as if he doesn't believe a damned word of it, "Do you regret it?"

"The abortion?"

He nods.

"No." I admit, "But when I think about the entire procedure and shit, it makes me feel sick. I hate the fact that I wasn't careful enough but I'm not a selfish person, I couldn't bring a child into the world when everything was so messed up."

He purses his lips together briefly, looking down at the bottle. "When did he die?"

"4 years." I tell him, clearing my throat. "I was 14."

Adonis doesn't say 'I'm Sorry', the way everyone else usually does. The change helps me feel more comfortable talking about him than I expected.

When people say 'I'm sorry for your loss', it's basically a conversation ender. It just makes me not want to talk anymore because everyone automatically assumes that I don't want to talk about Jonah.

I always did, I still do. He was so much more than the boy who was stabbed to death near the park.

With a gentle voice, he mumbles. "I bet he would've ruined Julian for what he's put you through."

"It wouldn't have ever happened." I say simply, because it's true. "Julian says all he says, but we both know he wouldn't have dared to go up against Jonah."

"You're more than just his sister, you know. Just like you're more than just Julian's ex." He said softly, mouth moulding into a tiny smile which I return.

"We were going to rule the world." I whisper, eyes flickering. "We were going to burn down everyone who dared to stop us."

Confession: I enjoy our conversations, no matter how depressing they are.