I’ve got anger I’ve not dealt with, and I should know better than to go.
Mom would kill me.
But Mom isn’t here.
Is this what it’s come to?
I’ve lost the girl, but I saved my mom.
If only my dad wasn’t such a fuckingpiece of shit,then I might’ve had a chance with Sierra.
I blame him for everything.
If it rains, it’s his fault.
If I get ill, it’s his fault.
Why does he get to live?
My car moves in the direction of his house, almost on autopilot.
Muscle memory.
I’m not in the right state of mind to be doing this, but I can’t stop myself.
I want to see if he’s still alive after years of being dead in my mind.
Does he still pass out on the porch?
Probably.
The rumble of the engine soothes me, but as I turn onto my old road, my stomach twists into knots, my heart thumping in my chest.
Don’t, Crane.
My mother’s voice rings through my head like she’s sitting beside me.
He’s not worth it.
I grip the steering wheel, blood roaring in my ears as I slow the car, bracing myself for the house I grew up hating.
When it comes into view, I’m half relieved.
It’s not the monster I thought it was.
It’s just a house.
There, on the porch, is the chair my dad passed out in on a regular basis.
It’s empty, and the house is dark.
He’s either asleep or out drinking.
I almost slow to a stop—almost.
But something presses my right foot down on the accelerator, and I’m out of there.
Keep going, Crane.
