I don’t know how to feel about this awkward limbo we are in. We both want each other. We have no interest in anyone else, even if we lie to ourselves about it – that’s always been consistent. And same as before, there’s the sneakiness and forbidden nature of being together while no one knows about it. But unlike last time, I want to face this head on. I’m ready to own our relationship and take it on with everything I have. I just need her to be on the same page, so we don’t ruin everything.
I lean against the doorframe, unease nestling in my chest.
Within the hour, I pull up out the front of my childhood home. The house seems as if it has aged a lifetime since I left. The paint has peeled off in large chunks. The lawn has grown to the point it is almost knee-height and the pavement is cracked, with weeds sprouting through the gaps. The gate hangs off its hinges and is so rusty, it looks like one gust of wind would tear it apart.
‘Jesus,’ Zayden comments, peering out the windscreen. ‘This place has gone to shit.’
‘Was it ever not?’ I counter dryly.
‘You okay?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re always fine,’ he says quietly.
Unclipping the seatbelt, I hesitate a moment, mentally preparing myself for what I might be walking into. Given that Dad’s car is parked in the driveway, I’m guessing he’s home. He’s always home.
Zayden unbuckles and I look back at him, shaking my head.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Stay here and don’t come inside, even if you hear him yelling.’
Zayden stares at me before shifting his gaze to the house and then back to me. He offers a slow nod as he reaches for his belt, clipping it back in.
‘I’m right here,’ Zayden says. ‘If you need me.’
Heading first to the letterbox, I open it, sighing when I see that it’s empty. Of all the chores he completes around the house, or lack thereof, why must collecting the mail be the only thing he does? Trepidation fills me with each step I take. Hovering near the door, I can hear the faint rumble of the TV. It’s never switched off, no matter what time of day it is. Rapping my knuckles against the door, I wait. After knocking two more times to no avail, I blow out a breath and push the door open, stepping inside.
The room is dark and smells stale, as if it hasn’t breathed fresh air for months. Dust is settled on every surface in sight. Empty bottles are scattered across the floor, many of which have cigarette butts jammed down their necks. I shudder in repulsion. My heart squeezes, and I brace myself against the wall, feeling the panic rising.
Breathe in and out, in and out, I tell myself, not letting the anxiety of being back here overwhelm me. I need my mail – stupidly important mail that can’t go ignored – and then I’m out of here. Now I’m back in Australia, all my mail comes directly to me, but when I was travelling, I didn’t think about it. I should have redirected it to Zayden and Anya’s house.
‘Tony?’ I call out. ‘It’s me.’
A shadow moves, gaining my attention, and my father steps out from the hallway. I flinch involuntarily, taking in his overgrown, scruffy appearance. He’s gained a significant amount of weight, and he looks as if it’s been days since his last shower. His eyes are glassy and red-ringed. He peers at me, swaying on his feet.
‘You ain’t welcome here,’ he snarls gruffly.
Oh,I think, my grip on the wall tightening.He knows who I am today.
‘I need my mail, and then I’ll be gone,’ I say.
I wait a beat, to see what else he might throw at me, but to my surprise, he stays silent. Stepping back, he gestures towards the kitchen bench. A large jumble of envelopes is strewn across the surface. Moving slowly, without taking my eyes off him, I walk over to it and start quickly sifting through. There are more than I realise. I stack them into a neat pile and fold them in half, jamming them into my back pocket.
I don’t even hear him move. He shoves me hard, slamming me into the bench and sending dirty kitchen utensils flying onto the floor with a loudclang.
‘Fuck,’ I grunt, feeling him slice one of the knives across my stomach.
Gritting my teeth, I push as hard as I can and manage to get out from underneath him. I’m lunging for the front door when he yanks the hood of my jumper, reeling me backwards and off my feet. His fist slams into the side of my head, and black dots soak my vision as I blink rapidly, trying to stay conscious. His fists keep coming, harder and faster than I expect from him.
‘Dad!’ I shout, bringing up my arms to protect my head. ‘Stop! I’m going!’
‘You nothing, no good, piece of shit,’ he gripes, swatting my hand away. Curling his meaty hands around my throat, he squeezes. Blood drips into my eyes as I desperately try to pry his hands off me.
Two hands clamp down on my dad’s shoulders and pull him off me. Zayden swings, landing one solid hit on his nose. My dad staggers back, hitting his head on the corner of the bench before collapsing on the floor. Blood oozes down the side of his face and he groans, spitting onto the dirty ground. Then he gazes ahead, looking dazed.
Zayden pulls me to my feet and quickly inspects me, wincing at what he sees.
‘Come on,’ he says urgently. ‘Let’s go.’
