Than a never-thought-about…

Without a word, Daryl followed me up my father's staircase, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. Not stopping until I was at my bedroom, I quickly turned the handle and pushed the door inwards.

I couldn’t remember a single night before the fire when Daryl hadn't slept in my room, but it was different now.

This was a different bedroom.

He was a different Daryl.

Breathing hard and uneven, I stepped inside and gestured for him to follow me.

Wordlessly, he did.

My room wasn't small by any shape of the imagination, but neither was Daryl, and his presence was suddenly stifling. The room felt thick and clammy with unresolved pain and hurt.

"So…" Not sure what else to do, I awkwardly moved straight for my queen-sized bed. All I wanted to do was dive under my purple comforter and hide from this horrible situation, but I braved it out and sat on the edge instead. "You wanted to talk?"

I didn’t have the words needed to make this a productive two-way conversation, so I was hoping Daryl would take the lead on this.

Every Avenue's Only Place I Call Home was blaring from the speakers downstairs, one of my favorite songs in the whole world, but I couldn’t concentrate on the lyrics when Daryl was standing in my bedroom and wreaking havoc on my emotions.

"Molly." It was one word, but it sounded like it had been torn from somewhere deep inside of him. "Molls," he repeated, his voice barely more than a broken whisper.

I blew out a ragged breath. "You finally remember?"

He dropped his head in shame.

That was all the admission I needed.

He remembered.

"Took you long enough."

He looked genuinely distraught at that. Like my words had cut him deep, but that couldn't be right, not when it had taken him two freaking years to recognize the girl he'd spent his childhood with.

I wondered how that must feel, to be able to erase your past like he had? A glorious revelation I could only assume. How I longed to erase the pain in my heart that echoed and lingered every day since the fire. How I yearned to forget about him. How I ached to never feel the woes of abandonment that impregnated my soul like a viper's poisoned bite.

"It's okay." I started to shake, unable to control my own body, as a piece of my carefully constructed armor chipped away. "You grew up good, Daryl King."

I kept my smile firmly etched on my face; the one that I used in church, the one I offered my teachers and therapists.

I knew tears had no place in this moment.

Besides, I'd done enough crying.

"And you grew up –"

"Invisible?" I whispered brokenly. "Scarred?"

"No." Daryl remained frozen in the middle of my room, hands jammed inside the pockets of his Letterman jacket, his storm-filled eyes locked on mine. "You're not any of those things."

Liar. Tearing my gaze from his, I plucked at an invisible thread on my comforter, feeling a million different emotions batter my fragile heart. "I never got a chance to say thank you."