[𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒]

𝐌𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐋𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐋𝐘, 𝐈 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄

kitchen all by myself, waiting for three people to come home. One person in particular though.

He didn't tell me where he was going. He didn't tell me why he was leaving. He just left . . . didn't even take Mom's car or anything.

Before bed, I removed the uncomfortable binder bra (that I honestly had no business wearing) and just slept in his hoodie.

I was still awake when Mom and Dad came back.

"Paris," Mom began, walking into my room. "Dad told me that you made the pasta in the fridge."

"Oh yeah," I muttered dryly.

"Baby, I had some and it was dee–licious!"

"Glad you liked it," I mumbled, drawing the covers over my lower body.

Mom came and sat on the edge of my bed.

"London told you what to do?"

"Yeah, he did."

"Speaking of London, where is he? He wasn't in his room when I was trying to say goodnight."

"He, um, kind of left after we ate."

"Well where did he go?" I could tell Mom was concerned now.

"Mommy, I don't know, I'm sorry." I turned to my side and closed my eyes.

"Paris, it's eleven. By now he should be home. That doesn't worry you?"

"He made the choice to leave, he knows his curfew and he's not here, so that's his fault." I gagged in my mouth repeating my words in my head.

"How could you be so insensitive? Now what if he's hurt?"

"He can take care of himself. I just think it's funny how when I come home late, which I don't anymore, you never thought 'Oh, maybe Paris is hurt,' you only think I'm doing something wrong. You're never concerned about me, but you are with London, and he's not even your son."

"Are you crazy? Paris, I worry about you every damn day! When you walk out that door, even when you go to school, my anxiety is over the roof because I'm afraid someone is going to hurt my baby. It's the same with Brooke too, especially since she's in another state. And you know what, London is part of this family now, meaning I care for him the way I care for you and Brooklyn." Mom wasn't yelling but her tone was fierce, and a little saddened that I would ever think she doesn't care about me. "And I'm sorry if I made you feel that way. I love you, goodnight." She turned off the light and slammed my door.

Tears began to blur my vision. London left because of me. Wherever he was, something could've happened to him. I couldn't handle the guilt of something happening to London because he left on my account.

I felt like throwing up but luckily I was able to sleep it off, until two hours later.

I rushed to the bathroom, covering my mouth. I let it all out in the shower and not the toilet.

"Paris!" Mom called from downstairs. "Are you okay?"

I wiped my mouth. "Yeah! I'm good!"

After I washed my mouth and brushed my teeth, I heard the front door open. I walked out and stood by the railing, inconspicuously. I saw London standing near the front closed door, deadpanned.

My parents came into view with their backs turned.

"Where were you?" Dad demanded.

"I just went to 7/11," London replied calmly. "If you called, I'm sorry, I didn't have my phone on me. I'm sorry, for all this, for causing you both stress, and being a liability."

"London, you're not a liability," Mom quickly told him. "We're very angry with you but that doesn't mean we weren't and aren't worried about you. Just, please try to be more responsible next time and have your phone on you."

"And you're grounded, for just a week," Dad asserted. London nodded and began to walk past my parents, I went to my room quickly as he did so, leaving my door ajar and drawing the covers over my body.

My breathing stopped as his footsteps got closer. He knocked on the door lightly.

"Paris?"

I breathing started again and I cleared my throat quietly. "Yeah?"

"Can we talk for a minute?"

"Sure, come in." The lights turned on and he pushed the door all the way open to come in.

While he made his way over to me I sat up straight. He took a seat on the edge of my bed. The stench of tobacco attacked my nose.

"I just want to say I'm sorry," London began softly. "For storming out the way I did when you were being open with me . . . . You didn't deserve that."

What I wanted to say was, " it's okay." But something different came out.

"You smell like cigarettes."

His face didn't change.

"Goodnight, Paris." He turned, stood up and left.