haven ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟏

017. side of you

SEVENTEEN—SIDE OF YOU
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"I DON'T THINK those daisies would appreciate the aggressively tight grip," I heard a voice approaching me as I knelt in the dirt of my garden, angrily clutching the flowers at their roots and pulling them up faster than what was recommended. After the...altercation with my mother that morning, I'd reached for my gardening gloves and bucket of tools, immediately storming out of the house to my...well, my happy place.

And here came my father to mess it up. 

"Yeah, well," I grumbled, unable to think clearly enough to come up with a response. Sitting back on my heels, I crossed my arms and stared ahead at the forest surrounding my house.

"You know," he began, edging nearer to me, "your mother only wants to see how you're doing."

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well that I was acting like a dramatic teenager. "Yeah, I noticed."

My father sighed. For a few seconds, he didn't say anything, contemplating how he should continue. He was always like that, for as long as I could remember. Always calculating, making sure his responses were perfect. It drove me nuts because he always gave me the same look. That look that said, you disappoint me.

"Look, Elda, I just wish that you would get a job. The way you live..." I turned to glare at him as he threw his hands out around him. "It's too unconventional for it to be sustainable. What happens when you want to go on vacation? Or when you want to start a family? You need your own money for that."

Letting out a loud, frustrated groan, I returned to picking flowers and planting new seeds, grumbling, "I don't want to get married."

"You can't keep living in this fantasy, Elda." His voice changed from a gentle, I-want-to-make-it-sound-like-I'm-an-understanding-parent tone to a harder, you-will-listen-to-what-I-tell-you-to-do tone. "One day, you're going to need some serious money. Just because the house is paid off and your mother and I keep sending you money doesn't mean that you're going to have that luxury forever. You need to start thinking about the future."

Scoffing, I shook my head. "I'm going to be just fine. You guys need to relax and trust me. Stop trying to control my life, and we'll both be happy." Standing up, I grabbed my gardening tools and the newly picked flowers, pushing past my dad. Trudging back up to the house, I pretended not to hear him curse angrily under his breath. His habit brought back too many memories. 

I had to get them out of my house. This weekend was going slower than I wanted it to. 

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With my parents choosing to go spend the afternoon in town—an offer I quickly declined—I was alone to calm myself down. And, of course, bring some lunch to the visitor I'd temporarily forgotten about in the wake of my parents. 

The daisies I'd picked were freshly cut and put in a vase when I carried them to Bucky's room. I was able to walk right in, as the door was open and the room was empty. The bed was made neatly—well, as neatly as one could with one arm. I walked over to the windowsill and set down the flowers, a small, perhaps corny, way of bringing light into the room. I was sick of making him just stay inside all day like a dog. But I couldn't risk my parents finding out about him. 

A faint sound of water running upstairs lured me from his room, climbing the stairs to my bathroom. Knocking on the door, I called out, "Bucky?"