"Sariel is staying outside." "What? Why?" "Because you can't do it." "That's not very fair." "Do you even want to?" "Hmph..."
They followed the girl at a distance, eventually approaching a house. It maybe wasn't dingy in its day, but now, it had a sagging porch and peeling paint. The girl entered the front door and closed it behind her, and Addie headed around back, climbing the ivy trellis.
They opened the window and climbed into Addie’s old room. It was quite lovely. She had painted clouds on the blue walls and her bed had a cream bedspread. Her guitar rested in the corner, and there was a desk with the lamp turned off, dust over the surfaces. Pictures hung from strings on the ceiling.
She was opening the door, listening quietly. *** Molly stood in the doorway. The television was on, but the volume was too low to hear. Her father sat in his favorite chair and Molly held her breath for a moment, eyeing the empty bottles by his side. Not too long ago, he used to only drink a small glass of those whiskeys after dinner. Now, it seemed like he was never without them. “Where were you?” she demanded tremulously, her hands trembling at her side. He didn’t respond at first; only groaned slightly. “Molly…” “You can’t do this to me,” she said, her voice shaking. “You can’t abandon me like this. Addie wouldn’t want you to-“ “Don’t you dare say any more, Molly,” he said, standing up unsteadily. “Don’t say another *squee!*ing word.”
Molly looked up at him, tears filling her eyes. "She's gone, Molly," he said flatly. "She's dead, and she's not around to take care of us. She's dead. It's time to grow up." A small, choked sob escaped her throat, and she whimpered before turning and leaving, heading towards Addie's room.
She nodded, grabbing Warner's hand and pulling him into the closet with her, shutting the door. Moments later, Molly burst into the room, going onto Addie's bed and hugging her pillow, sobbing deeply.
"Why'd you have to go?" he would hear Molly mutter between sobs. "Why'd you have to go?" Addie looked deeply upset. The closet was small and she was right in front of him, almost under his chin, but her brows were furrowed and her eyes were wet.
She looked up at him for a moment, before just resting her forehead on his chest, seeming to badly desire comfort in that moment.
She seemed to notice his stiffness and pulled away, turning to look through the cracks in the closet. She seemed embarrassed that she had even tried.
He reached out, his touch much softer this time as he brushed her shoulder hopefully, intending to sooth.
She didn't pull away, but didn't necessarily respond to his touch at first, still looking a little embarrassed. After a moment, she looked over at him.
