There are kids present.
Just making sure they know not to throw away their talents for a little bit of fun.
On and on and on. I endure this for hours, slowly going numb to his words. It’s like I’m made of rubber. I don’t feel the sting, but I feel the impact all the same. It’s dull, but the vibration of it seeps into my bones.
By the time I can escape to my room, I’m breathing heavily. Fighting not to break down entirely. I toss and turn for a few hours, dreading going to sleep and knowing I have to face them in the morning.
I have to listen to my father send me off with his words sticking out of me like a dozen knives.
Unable to face it, I push myself up and dress before sneaking out of the house. I’m fortunate that my father hasn’t upgraded to the latest technology and camera doorbells that detect motion. There’d be no way to get out.
But I leave in silence and hurry down the road; when I reach the corner, I call a rideshare to the airport. Maybe there’s a late flight. I’d love a late flight. Any flight. I just need to get away.
There’s one ten minutes before midnight. I’m home by two, but I can’t remember getting here. My father’s words echo in my head. I shake. It feels as if my heart is going to beat its way out of my chest. Tears sting my eyes. The voice in my head is loud. So, so loud. Bouncing around and echoing, continuously stabbing me. Repeatedly.
I tremble so badly I can barely hold onto my phone. There’s only a 2% charge. Since I don’t trust myself to drive, I call another rideshare and wait outside.
My phone dies before I get inside the car.
I’m unable to think better of this as I stumble out and up to Ren’s front door. I knock. Ring the bell. Knock again. I barely see the door. I don’t see anything but the disappointment in my father’s eyes.
Not for the first time, I wonder if he’d prefer a different son.
FIFTEEN
REN
When I takea few minutes to scroll social media while lunch cooks, I realize that it’s Thanksgiving. This explains why Felton took off this morning. Without asking, I imagine he went home.
Which only leaves me concerned all day. I’ve briefly witnessed how his father treats him and I’ve heard from him how it makes him feel. I spend a lot of time checking my phone to see if he’s reached out.
But by that evening when I’m heading to bed, I haven’t heard from him. Hopefully that means he’s doing well. Maybe he’s taken a step to put some boundaries in place. Maybe that’s led to them hashing some shit out and moving in a better direction in their relationship.
Something inside me says that’s not what’s happening. But there’s also nothing I can do about it.
I’m woken up to a loud noise. Disoriented, I sit up just as the doorbell rings and then the pounding follows.
Tapping my phone, I check the time. It’s barely two-thirty. Rubbing my eyes, I get to my feet and head for the door. I’m both unsurprised and surprised to find Felton there. He looks… awful.
“I’m sorry,” he says as I blink to see him clearly in the light of the porch lamp. “But I didn’t know where else to go. I think I’m going to pass out.”
He’s shaking so bad, he’s leaning against the side of the house to remain upright.
I reach for him, pulling him inside. He’s not steady on his feet. Fuck, he’s not even wearing shoes!
Without comment, I bring him further into the house, sitting him on the couch and wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. He’s not seeing me. I’m not sure what he sees, but he’s barely here right now.
“Please tell me you didn’t drive like this,” I say.
Felton shakes his head.
Thank fuck for that. “I’m going to get you a drink. Don’t move.”
He nods. Stilling almost entirely except for his shaking. God, did he witness a murder?
I return a few minutes later with a hot cup of tea and push it into his hands. There’s no comment as he drinks. No argument. No fight at all. But he’s still trembling when he’s done.
Now, I know I told him I’d help him, and I definitely want to, but I’m completely out of my element right now. What am I supposed to do? Does asking what happened help or not? Does it make him relive it or get it off his chest?
