**_Chapter 8

_**_Maisie_

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I never imagined my life could take this turn. Not just the fact that I got into an accident, not just that I lost my mother. But it’s him. My dad. The dad I used to dream up every night, the dad I always asked about. The dad I grew up thinking was dead.

And now he’s standing right there. Right next to me, talking to the doctor. His mouth moving, his chest rising, and I’m sure somewhere his heart beating. Alive. He’s alive.

“Thank you,” he says to the doctor as he turns to me. A smile on his lips, a smile I can’t return. “Well Maisie . . . What do you say about going home?”

Home? To my house, or is he kidnapping me, taking me away.

I shrug, avoiding his pale, pale blue eyes. Nothing like Mom’s, but terrifyingly close to mine.

He puts his arm around my shoulder, it takes every ounce of my being not to shove him away. I know he means to be comforting, but he’s not Mom, he’s a stranger. And there’s nothing comforting about a stranger to someone like me. To someone who struggles just to look another human in the eye, who can’t even be herself around her family.

We leave the hospital, his arm still draped around me. I keep searching for a way to draw us apart. There’s the hand sanitizer pole in the center of the hallway, but there’s still plenty of room for us both to fit on one side.

I give up after one attempt. It’s not like it’s worth trying when I’m just gonna end up failing anyways.

“My car’s parked pretty far out,” he tells me as we exist the building. “Couldn’t find any open spots.”

And yet all I see out in front of me is empty, white lines. I know I shouldn’t take this as something personal, like he didn’t want to see me. So I don’t, I could care less any ways, I don’t even know him.

I let him guide me to his car, normally I would just naturally know what I’m looking for. I would be on auto pilot, and now I’m putting all my trust into a man who left me.

“Maisie,” he says as he pulls his arm back. We stop in front of a small white car that looks pretty worn down. I feel bad that I see a resemblance between the two. “I just want you to know . . .”

I wait for him to find his words. I don’t encourage him, which isn’t weird for me. It’s the whole reason I’m in therapy, because I can’t seem to get a sentence out to another human being. Even if the world depended on me, if we were going to explode and saying one word was the key. I would just find a safe place to hide, I’d rather be safe in my mind, then safe in my physical self. At least that’s what my mind tells me. I’ve never questioned if it was true or not. I just assumed it was.

“I want you to know that I’m sorry.” He finishes, his pale eyes searching mine. “I don’t expect you to forgive me, I don’t expect anything.”

I nod slowly. I don’t understand why he’s apologizing, I’m not mad. “You haven’t done anything.” My words surprise me, my voice soft but still confident. “You don’t even know me . . . So you couldn’t have done anything.”

His eyes soften into disappointment. My heart breaks as I take in his look. I hate that I’ve hurt him, but maybe I am mad. Maybe he does need to apologize, because now I have to live with a stranger. When he could have just been in my life, when I could have a dad to comfort me.

“I know,” he says. “I know I haven’t been there for you in the past. But I’m here now.”

Words. I hear them echoing around in my head. Words . . . Words I want . . . _Need_ to say. “I don’t need you.” I whisper. “You’re only here because Mom isn’t. Not because you want to be.”

His silence is my answer. Mom always told me I could read silence like it was words on a page. He feels bad, he wishes he thought more about his words, although there was nothing wrong with them. It was his audience.

We climb into the car, me in the back seat, and him behind the wheel. It’s a weird image, to see short hair and strong arms and a tall frame sitting there. It’s always been Mom, and it always should be.

“Maisie,” he says again after what feels like hours of silence. “I’m here, and while I’m here. I’m here.”

We pull into the driveway of _my_ house. I didn’t even know this man knew how to get here. His words replay in my mind. _He’s here._ I look over as he gets out of the car. Check. _But is he staying_ . . . That’s something the future will check off. Not me.

I watch as he opens the front door while I’m shutting mine. I can see the dark hallway from here. Our hallway. Mom’s and mine.

He stays in the door way until I come a few feet behind him. Then he turns around, motioning for me to enter first. I do.

Even after the front door is shut he still stands in the hallway like he’s in a different world. Not sure what the right thing to do is.

I stand in the arch way to the side of the door, and his eyes stray to the huge black piano that sits in the room.

He points to it. “You play?”

_You should know._ I think, he’s my dad. He should know my favorite food, my hates, my likes. He should know.

I nod once. “Mom taught me.”

A sad smile comes to his face. “You’re mother was exceptional . . . At everything she did.”

_Then why did you leave?_ I think, the answer sitting right in front of me. If Mom was so amazing— which she was, I’m not arguing against that— then there must have another reason for his disappearance. Me. His daughter.

“Well,” he breaks the silence. “Is there a guest room? Or couch?”

At least he’s not just barging into Mom’s room. I’d offer it, but it’s not up to me. It’s up to Mom.

I nod, turning to the stairs that lead into the basement. “Down there,” I say, turning back. “There’s both.”

He gives me a smile and then scoots past me. His footsteps are heavy compared to Mom’s, it scares me, there’s a stranger in my house.

As soon as I’m sure he’s not in hearing range I start sobbing. Tears never came easy for me, not since I started my medication for anxiety, it was a side effect . . . Which didn’t sound bad at the time. But without a way to vent, life is almost even more unbearable.

Tears slide down my cheeks faster than I can count. I feel like I’m standing in rain, rain that only touches my face. I make my way down the dark hallway, past my bedroom and into Mom’s. It’s just the way she left it. Her white bed sheets perfectly smoothed over her mattress, her pajamas folded on the rocking chair in the corner. Her pictures hung above the bed, pictures of us. Pictures of the past.

I shut the door softly behind me, choking out sobs as I fall to her bed. It’s almost scary to hear sounds of pain coming from my mouth, I can’t let anyone know how I feel. I have to hide it, but I just can’t anymore.

Mom is gone. She’s not on vacation, she’s not at work, she’s gone, gone gone. And I need her.

. . .

I slowly let my eyes open as I lift myself up. I’m still in Mom’s room, still laying across her perfectly made bed. Still wet with tears. I twist around to look at the alarm clock on her bedside table. 12:03 AM. I must have fallen asleep.

I climb off the bed, my eyes straying to the window right next to her bed. It’s so dark outside, so black. And in that darkness I feel a light, something pulling me.

I tip toe through the empty house. I assume he’s still in the basement, either on the couch or in the guest room. I don’t care too much about waking him, but then I realize he’s a person too. Just like the rest of us, I’m mad at him sure, but he’s a person. And people make mistakes.

Once I’m out in my front yard I stand in the wet grass, letting my head fall back. The stars are barely even there. Just little dots spread far apart. Maybe I was crazy to think there was some light out here. Maybe I’m crazy, because right now I should be crying. My mom is dead, why can I think those words so easily?

I walk for a long time, not even sure where my feet are taking me. Until . . . There he his.

The boy who I could talk to. The boy who told me I was beautiful, he doesn’t actually know me, but he knows my pain. Maybe that kind of connection is enough. I know he wasn’t talking about my looks, because you’d have to be blind to think I was pretty. This boy—Davian— has eyes. I know because looking into them that first time crushed me. That pitch black, that comfort, it was something amazing. Something great.

I can’t help the smile that takes over my lips as I start towards him. There are flowers all around us, flowers, small trees, and that stone bench. The hospital garden.

“Davian?” I ask as I approach his side.

He looks over at me, his eyes tired, but still beyond glad. I’ve never seen someone look at me like this. With such . . . Happiness. “Maisie,” he smiles softly. “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I reply sitting down next to him. Closer than I’ve ever sat next to someone I barely know. “What about you?”

Davian nods. “Same. Sleep and me don’t get along these days.” He smiles.

I smile back, letting silence fall around us. It feels uncomfortable at first, I mean it was me that was supposed to keep the conversation going. But after a minute, it feels . . . I don’t know. Normal. I guess, I’m sitting here and so is Davian. We’re just two people, enjoying the silence together.

“They almost seem to glow,” Davian breaks the silence, motioning at a small bush of white flowers. And he’s right. In the small amount of moon light, the flowers seem brighter than in the sun.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, trying, wishing I could just know how to keep a conversation going.

“Kinda like you,” Davian says, his voice even softer than mine. He turns to meet my eyes, and I melt. His eyes are so black, just like the night sky. But like the flowers, he’s not lost in the darkness. Because he’s right here.

I feel my cheeks burning as I stare into his eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

Davian gives me a small bump with his shoulder. “I do.” Is all he says. And it’s more than enough to make me heart start racing. This boy actually thinks I’m pretty. It’s . . . It’s crazy.

“Why?” I ask, feeling my whole body heat up as I quickly turn away from him. “I mean . . . I’m the least beautiful girl in the world.”

Davian doesn’t answer for a minute. When he does, his answer makes my heart stop. “Not to me.” He pauses again. “My mom . . . She as really into One Direction.”

He looks to me, and I nod. I know them, not a ton, but a little.

“She always turned their music on and danced with my dad. It made me smile so much. To see them so happy. Then one day I asked my mom why she liked them.” Davian stops and lets out a small laugh. “Honestly I thought it was because they looked good. More than good, they were exactly what I never would be. But then my mom showed me something . . . Well told. It was a quote, from Niall. ‘I’m the kind of boy that can fall in love any girl, because I love with the heart, not the eyes.’ So, you are beautiful.”

He looks deep into my eyes now. We barely know each other, but he still makes me feel like I’ve know him forever. Longer than forever. “Because I see inside of you . . .” Davian swallows, his eyes shaking softly. “And you’re beautiful.”

I part my lips but no words come out. This isn’t the first time I’ve lost my thoughts, lost my words. But it is the first time I’ve loved losing them. This boy is crazy, I’m crazy. I’ve never felt this way before.

“I like that,” I blurt out. “That quote. It’s nice . . .”

Davian’s lips curve into a small smile. “It’s what I live by.”

And suddenly that’s when I knew. It’s what I live by too, not because Davian lives by it. But because it’s the only true way to find love, to find something great . . . Something . . . Maybe like this.

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