Page 27 of Hollow Heart

The waves keep coming, I can barely breathe, burying cities, burying me.

The atmospheric chill of the music combined with the evident pain in his vocals makes me stop mid-pepper chop.

I look down the hall, at Bobby’s closed door as Felix sings.

I keep treading water, but the ocean’s too deep

I keep trying to be the biggest shark, but I’m fucking weak.

Something about his words hits me in the stomach like a sucker-punch.

I resume my chopping, listening to Felix croon out haunting lyrics about hiding oneself away from the world, and for a moment, I sympathize.

For a moment, I feel like Felix has opened a window into his soul, like he’s screaming for someone to see the truth.

Either that, or he’s actually a really decent songwriter who’s overshadowed by big wigs like Palo.

I get lost in the music as I chop, sauté, and cook up my vegetables, chicken, and noodles.

Once I’ve plated everything up, I pause my music. Once the table is set, I head down to the hall to knock on Bobby’s door.

He doesn’t answer, so much as grunt, which tells me he is probably under the spell of his own headphones, or in the middle of one of those online games he likes to play.

“Hey, uh... dinner’s ready. When you are, I mean,” I say, standing outside his door.

Just as I am about to give up and leave, he opens it, his gaze flashing up at me with sadness.

Was hecrying?

Before I can ask, he shakes off the look of disdain, replacing it with his normal resting teenager face.

“What did you order this time?” he asks skeptically, and I sigh, crossing my arms.

“I can cook, too, you know. You didn’t get to be a full-fledged teenager without my cooking skills. I kept you alive.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “I’m not a plant, dad.”

“Really? Because you seem pretty plant-like to me. Sitting in one place—” I glance at the rumpled bed behind him. “Lacking a bit of sunlight though,” I say as he sighs.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, throwing his arms around my waist.

I have to fight my grin as I wrap my large arms around his much smaller frame.

“You’re sorry, huh?” I ease up.

I can’t remember the last time I got a hug voluntarily. He must feel pretty bad, and something about that makes me feel bad, too.

I hate seeing him anything but happy.

As soon as it comes, it’s gone as he pushes away from me.

“I know I’m not perfect, Bobby. But I know when something is fucked. I don’t know what’s got you all off on a tear, but you know whatever it is, youcantalk to me.”

Bobby twists his lips, almost as if he is truly thinking about coming clean.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he walks past me, headed toward the kitchen.

“I know. But some things I just have to figure out on my own, Dad.”

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