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Danika shakes her head. “Couldn’t get time off, but they did give me this for you.”

I don’t know how I missed it. There’s a baseball bat in the middle of the balloons.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Rage cage, baby,” Collin says, waggling his eyebrows.

I have today off work. Not because I asked for it off. But because it’s company policy that everyone must take their birthday as a personal holiday. There is absolutely nothing to celebrate today. Especially my birth.

Staring at the ceiling, my mind gravitates to life. Existing. Why I am here? Why was I ever born? A question that has plagued me many times throughout my childhood—especially after a brutal beating from my father. Nothing like a bloody nose and bruised ribs to make me contemplate the meaning of my life.

I’m able to look back with awareness and understand it didn’t matter what I did or who I was; the result would’ve been the same. I could’ve been the perfect son—grades, sports, attitude—but my father would’ve found a way to unleash his anger and frustration on me. Lay it at my feet as if I were the problem.

Even though I know it wasn’t me. It doesn't make believing it, or feeling like I deserve to be here, any easier. Because I have the same blood running through my veins. His fire still lives on in me. I don’t have to search far to find the flames licking at my emotions, waiting to be unleashed. The part of me that will always be him.

And every time I allow even a sliver of release, I burn everything down. I lose control and can’t put the fire out until I’m physically stopped. It controls me, not the other way around. So I keep it locked away, always knowing it’s there. And it scares the shit out of me.

Emma’s the only person who’s kept me from exploding when I was on the brink. I’ve been thinking about it. What I saw on her face that night to make me stop—other than the fear. Like she knew what it was that wanted to be let loose. She understood the rage that wanted to take over. Or maybe that’s what I wanted to see. Someone who finally accepts me.

We’ve been connecting more and more lately. Not over anything good, unfortunately. We’ve survived things that should’ve broken us, and we’re still here. We’re still alive. Fucked up thing to bond over.

So how do I keep living? Keep moving forward? What’s the point of trying if everything I want from this life is in the past? The only choice is to let go. Because there is no way I survived hell for no fucking reason. There has to be a reason. But I can’t figure out what it is—too wrapped up in the nightmares and fear. The guilt and shame.

What do I have to do to finally see clearly? To create a future worth walking into?

It’s been said by someone who isn’t me that there comes a point in our lives when we must face our fears instead of escaping them. So today, for my twenty-third birthday, I need to confront my nightmare.

It’s a rare warm April day with the temperatures nearing eighty. If a beautiful, sunny day doesn’t say, Stare down the devil, I don’t know what does. Whatever. It’s worth a try. I don’t know how else to move past this. And maybe I’ll finally be able to sleep through the night.

It also gives me an excuse to uncover my motorcycle for the first time this year.

The rev of the engine beneath me. Leaning into the curves of the road. The wind in my face. This is living.

I smile when I roll to a stop in front of Emma, who’s inspecting me from her driveway, school bags in hand. Perfect timing.

This was not part of the original plan. I allowed impulsivity to steer me here. But if I can show her my nightmare, maybe she’ll be able to face her own. I’m not going to say that. Asking her to skip school to confront her mortality isn’t going to get her to get on the back of my bike.

“Jonathan?”

“Good morning.” I smile like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “How are you?”

“Uh, fine.” She gives me a curious look. “What are you doing here? I thought we weren’t talking to each other; that we decided it was the best thing to do.”

“Not really.” I take off my sunglasses and lean back on the seat. “Rachel decided we shouldn’t talk, and she’s not here right now. I don’t think it’s the best thing at all, do you?”

Emma looks tortured, like I’m daring her to break some cardinal law.

“Let’s do something,” I offer casually.

“I have to go to school, and shouldn’t you be at work?”

“This is not the kind of day when you should be at school. And no, I should be right here.” I shoot her a mischievous smile, really trying to sell it. “Come on, Emma. You’ve already been accepted by Stanford. One skipped day of school isn’t going to change that.”

“I don’t know.” She inspects the bike. I can practically hear her mind arguing with itself. So I help her decide.

“You agreed we would do something, so let’s do it. Stop thinking so much and get on the bike, Emma.” I present it like there’s no choice, then slide on my glasses and start the motorcycle—revving it for emphasis.

Emma tosses her bags in the car and slides on her own pair of sunglasses. I grin, holding the spare helmet out to her. She swings her leg over and slides close behind me, holding on tight. Sometimes it’s better not to think. Then again, she may hate me after she discovers where we’re going.