Paranoia (Zayn Malik) (editing)

Chapter 3: The Duck Pond

Luna's POV

Last night was not as cruel to me as previous nights have been. I managed to get in a few hours, though I'm sure I look like I haven't slept in years, but this morning I feel relatively refreshed compared to others. The irony is that while I certainly am not a morning person, the night and I don't get a long either.

The floor is cold on my bare feet as I descend the stairs, but I'm thankful to the constant stimulation of my nerves until I can consume a gallon of coffee to keep me upright.

I pause outside the kitchen, hearing my father's low voice mumbling. It is not unusual for my father to mumble - most things he does are secrets - but for some reason, I feel compelled to care about this mumbling. I press my ear to the slightly ajar door, looking in to see him palming his temples with one hand while the other holds a phone to his ear.

"I'm not stupid, I know what we're up against." He says through gritted teeth, pausing briefly as the voice on the other side of the phone replies "I just thought they'd have let go by now... she doesn't even know about it, I don't see how it's gotten this bad, that we'd need to go to that extreme."

I don't like the idea that my father knows things I don't. I don't like the idea he is withholding information from anyone, especially when it could be me. I don't like that he receives mystery calls from mystery people in our kitchen while his children work around the clock just to pay his phone bill. I dislike it so much that I get the urge to barge into the kitchen and demand he tells me what he's talking about, but then I think about the energy it would cost to exert so much force and I reconsider. Instead, I keep listening.

"Yes." he sighs solidly "I know it's for her safety... I just wish I could do more. She'll be ready."

I get a twang of jealousy, mourning... whatever, for the paternal instincts he seems to be exhibiting over the phone, wanting to protect whoever, and I find myself hoping it's me, because I am so stupid to wish I was in danger just so he could redeem himself, heal the part of me that broke when he stopped being a father.

I wait for a second or two before pushing the door open and stepping into the kitchen.

My dad jerks upwards and fixes his eyes on me.

"Morning," I smile, and it is a forced smile. Maybe if I wasn't so fucked up I could be an actress.

"Good morning, sweetie." His smile is much less convincing.

I want to be nice. I want to ask him how he is, but I can't resist the grudge that is stuck in my throat like a lump.

"You're rarely up so early." I choke out, managing to only be slightly condescending. 

"Yes, uh, I was hoping that you, um...do... do you want to do something today?" He asks, and my eyes widen. 

"Like what?" I raise my eyebrow.

"Anything you want, we could go down to your favourite café? The one down by the duck pond."

I resist the urge to make a snide comment about being surprised he can remember anything other than how to snort cocaine, let alone my favourite cafe. 

"The only reason I used to like that pond was that they gave out free cupcakes and the ducks used to chase Tiago, besides it closed down two years ago."

"Oh, yeah." He sighs, disappointed, looking down at his idle hands. 

Something about seeing him like this makes my heartache, annoyingly. I shouldn't feel guilty about shooting his plan to shit when he hasn't done anything for me in years, but I do.