“No…” His silence is not a silent one because for once his face talks. I witness the pain, the fear, and the resolution building up in him. “I’m bringing Arianna home.”
“I’m sure your sister will be happy to have her wishes fulfilled.”
“I just wish that didn’t have to be the case.”
“I’m sorry.”
He mumbles something and then leaves the room, and only when he’s gone do I register what he said…
I hope she won’t regret leaving her to me.
Why would he say something like that? He’s doing a great job with me. Sure, he’s not easy, but he’s not a bad person. My heart breaks for him and the baby, but I’m sure he’s going to be a wonderful father.
Shame I won’t be here to see it.
CHAPTER 11
Haden
“Boy,” says my father when he opens the door.
I’m not a fucking boy, I’m a man, and I could take him on very easily now.
Now that he’s in front of me, I have time to look at him. He’s no longer the huge man I once knew. Instead he looks weak, until he opens his mouth, then he’s still the same bad man he’s always been.
“I’m here for Arianna.”
I had an idea about how being back here, in the house where I was born, raised, nearly killed, and disowned, would affect me. How those memories would take hold of me and bring me back to the fear and desperation I felt when I was left alone. But I never believed I’d be sixteen again, and expect them to accept me for who I am, and be fine with everything I am.
As if it’s ever going to happen.
My mother appears from behind my father, her face as dark as stormy water under a gray sky.
I instinctively take a step back, just to hate myself for it when she smiles her evil smile.
Then she steps forward, but this time I keep my ground.
I’m a grown-up man, and I lost hope a long time ago about my family understanding that loving someone is not a sin. Even if that person is of the same sex as mine.
She sounds like a screech owl, her voice harsh to my ears, words coming through her gritted teeth. “It’s your fault. It’s all your fault. I’ve lost my baby, and I blame you.” Her voice rises with each new word. Her eyes fill with tears as fake as those of a crocodile that’s just eaten its children. Her voice is a trembling, piercing shriek, showing others how difficult it is for her to deal with the grief of losing a child, but being so close to her, I can detect the fraud behind it. I witness the ugliness inside her, and it makes my stomach revolt. She doesn’t have to hide what she really is because there’s no one here but me, and I know her well.
People are never able to see behind the smoke she creates around her, not even my father, who’s now placing his arm around her shaking shoulders. Or maybe they’re one and the same.
“If Halia hadn’t allowed you to be in her life, she wouldn’t have died. This is the Lord’s punishment for allowing you to live in sin. Punishment for being happy that you’re going against the Lord’s rules.” Her voice is soaked with venom, but I don’t miss the sparkle of triumph in her eyes. She’s loving this, shaming me and firing up my guilt that never goes away. She loves showing me how unacceptable the way I was born is, and how wrong my ways are. She loves to prove to me that I’m nothing.
I’ve always known that I’m nothing. I’ve made peace with it.
However, my mother’s words hit deep inside me, because that question has been on my mind a lot. Was it my fault? I’ve been asking myself this since I discovered my sister had died. I still don’t have an answer… maybe because I fear it’s true.
Every words she said it’s a fucking stab to my heart. I’m bleeding in front of their house, like I did when I was sixteen and they rejected me. They threw me out like I was rubbish, like I wasn’t their son, like my blood wasn’t the same colour as theirs.
I take everything she dishes out, trying not to show how every word is torturing me, but failing miserably every time my sister’s name is mentioned. I school my face not to show any emotion while I take every stab from her forked tongue. I hate when herlips curve in a demonic, satisfied grin, because I’m certain I’ve failed.
I tune her out, and draw from years of practicing how to take it without reacting while letting her rant. She vomits all her disdain on me while I follow a memory that has been plaguing my mind for a while.
When I reached the hospital, I rushed to the room, hoping without hope that Halia was still alive. Hoping I still had time to say goodbye, or hoping my presence would force her to stay alive. Of course, all those hopes were crushed when I reached Halia’s room. The bed was empty, and people were already making space for the next patient.
That had been the first slap. The knowledge I could do nothing to save my little sister. The knowledge that I’d lost the only family I had left. Lost the only person on this earth who loved me even when everyone else wouldn’t.
