30. Wanna Fly?
CHAPTER 30
WANNA FLY?
NATE
February 2005
18 years old
The buzz of adrenaline is still thrumming in my veins. The team won today, but that high comes crashing down the second I step inside the house. The living room is destroyed with furniture overturned, glass shards glinting across the floor like cruel confetti. The stench of stale booze and something burnt hits me, and my gut twists because I already know what I'll find.
"Mom?" My voice barely carries as I move toward the kitchen. The silence screams louder than any noise could.
And then I see her.
She's curled up near the counter, clutching an empty vodka bottle like a lifeline. Her shoulders shake with silent sobs, messy strands of hair hiding her face. She doesn't register my presence.
"Mom?" I try again, louder this time, stepping closer as panic sets in. My breath catches at the fresh bruise forming under her left eye—a sickly purple testament to his handiwork. Rage surges through me like electricity through a downed power line, my fists clenching until my knuckles go white.
He fucking did this.
I kneel beside her, reaching out to touch her shoulder, to bring her back to reality. The moment my fingers graze her skin, she flinches, her body recoiling like I'm the monster. Like I'm him.
"It's okay, Mom. It's me. Nate," I say softly, each word splintering my heart. "I'm not going to hurt you."
But she's lost in her own personal hell, eyes wide and terrified, seeing past me into something I can't protect her from.
"This is never going to stop is it?" I whisper, though we both know the answer.
My throat constricts as her eyes dart around, checking if he's still here, her body trembling uncontrollably.
I was supposed to leave for college. Get out of this fucking hell I'd been living in. Play football. Build a life beyond the suffocating mess my father created. I had a way out, a future. But how can I walk away knowing he'll come back, again and again, until one day he takes it too far?
"I'm not leaving," I say, the decision settling in my chest like lead. "I'm not going to college. I'm staying here.”
Her head snaps up, panic flashing in her eyes as my words finally register. "No, Nate. No, you're not doing this." Her voice cracks, raw and broken. "You have to get out of here. I want that for you. Please..."
But it's too late. The choice is made. I can't leave Jake to fend for himself when he comes back next week. I can't leave her at Scott’s mercy.
"I can't leave you like this. Look what happens when I'm not around. This, Mom. This."
She grabs my hand, her grip weak but desperate. "Nate, you're supposed to make something of yourself. Don't throw that away for me. Please, baby." Tears cut tracks through her mascara, but I'm already lost to the decision I can't take back.
I'm angry.
So fucking angry.
The emotion burns through me, directed at him for being the piece of shit he is, at her for staying and forcing my hand. The anger subsides into guilt when I see the fear in her eyes. I still don't understand why she puts up with this, why she won't save herself.
The next day at school, reality settles in.
Scott would never allow his son to be a dropout or not attend an Ivy League College. He might be a deadbeat, but he's still proud, in his twisted way. He has an image to maintain.
So I'll find another way.
By lunchtime, my mind's made up. I text Aaron, known for dealing more than just party drugs behind the bleachers. We've never spoken, but I've watched how he operates—he's got what I need.
The meeting happens after school, behind the gym. Aaron leans against his car, wearing a knowing smirk.
"Never thought I'd see the day the captain of the football team comes running to me." His voice carries a hint of challenge as he pulls out a small baggie. "This shit is not like what you've smoked before, you sure you wanna try it?"
"I'm sure," I say, though certainty is the last thing I feel. All I know is I need an escape, something to dull the pressure crushing my chest.
The first hit feels like fire in my veins, but then, euphoria takes over. The burn transforms into something else entirely, wrapping around me like a warm blanket, numbing everything. Every worry, every weight pressing on my chest, evaporates like smoke. I lean back, close my eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I feel... light. The moon hangs above me, half-hidden like the truths I keep buried. As the euphoria of the pills Aaron gave me takes full control, I sink deeper into the ground, letting it swallow me whole. It's not Earth anymore—it's absolution, soft and endless, pulling me under. I can't tell if I'm falling or floating, but for once, I don't care. I want to disappear into this nothingness.
Her name comes to me through the haze.
The thought of her pulls me back, even just for a moment. Those big beautiful eyes that are so full of life with a smile to match. The way she laughs when she thinks no one's watching. My heart clenches because it beats for her.
Always has.
Always will.
But even as I picture her, I know it's fading. She can't know this version of me. She can't ever see me like this.
This is the beginning of something I can't control.
And I'm not sure I want to stop it.
Audioslave's "Be Yourself" fills the air, the opening notes haunting and slow, curling around me like an embrace. The sound penetrates deeper than just my ears—it's inside me, resonating in my bones. Each note vibrates against my skin, the music pulsing through my blood. The guitar solo hits electric, every chord sending shivers down my spine. The lead singer's voice cuts straight into my mind, and I feel the irony of every word. The highs, the lows—they're all part of me now, the drumbeat matching my heartbeat until I can't tell which is which anymore.
I open my eyes to find the stars blurring together, the night alive with an energy I can't explain. My head's swimming, but it's not unpleasant. It’s freeing, like I could drift away into the notes forever.
I'll never be like him.
The thought cuts through the fog, sharp and clear. A promise I've made before but never voiced. But as the music swells, filling every empty space inside me, I realize how hollow that promise is. Because deep down, I know I'm already too far gone. This is where it starts.
The spiral.
The addiction.
And with the music pounding in my head, I almost don't care anymore.
Being myself isn't an option.
I want to be anything but.
Weeks blur together , partly because I barely feel present anymore. True to my word, I'm spiraling. That much is clear. Showing up to school high becomes my new normal, and football practice?
A joke.
The bruises are too frequent now, too hard to explain away. Coach pulls me aside, looks me dead in the eyes, and asks what's going on.
I lie. I have to.
There's no way I'm telling him what happens behind closed doors, that my own father uses me like a punching bag when life gets too much for him.
So, Coach fucking calls him. Like that's going to do anything except make my life worse.
And it does.
I walk through the door that night, high and out of my mind. The tension hits me immediately, heavy like a noose tightening around my neck. Scott waits for me, seething, fists clenched at his sides. I hear Mom trying to stop him, playing peacemaker like always. But there's no peace to be found in this purgatory.
"Where the hell have you been?" Scott's voice is low, dangerous. He doesn't slur when he's like this. No, when it's not just the alcohol, he's sharp. Mean. Calculated.
"Oh, now you want to play the role of caring parent? You're ten years too fucking late, Dad."
"Nate, please??—"
It happens too fast.
He backhands Mom hard enough that I hear the crack before I see it. She stumbles back, clutching her face, and something inside me finally snaps.
"Don't fucking touch her." The words tear from my throat, shaking with pure hatred. I'm not scared of him anymore. I stopped being scared years ago.
Scott turns, bloodshot eyes locking onto me. "What did you just say to me, boy?"
"Hit someone your own fucking size."
He steps closer, away from Mom, whose lip is bleeding, her eyes wide with fear.
Fear for me.
"When did you decide to grow a pair, huh?" he taunts. "Look me in the eyes and say it, like a real man."
We're nose to nose now, his sour breath washing over my face. His bloodshot eyes bore into mine, unblinking, while a muscle twitches in his jaw. I don't back away, even as his fingers curl and uncurl at his sides. The room seems to shrink around us, the air turning thick and hot.
"Burn. In. Fucking. Hell."
His fist connects with my jaw before I can brace for it. Pain explodes in my mouth, metallic taste flooding my tongue. My vision blurs, but I don't stumble. I don't back down; instead, I laugh, and this throws him. I'm running on pure adrenaline fuelled by intense rage. The only thing I know to be true right now is a person who has no fucks left to give is lethal because they don't care if they live or die.
The fight escalates quickly. Blood sprays across the floor as my fists connect with his face again and again. I'm not his son anymore, not the peacekeeper, not the protector.
I become him.
A monster.
Each hit brings a sick satisfaction. I've always known my place, always let him beat me down to save Mom. But not tonight. Tonight, I'm fucking done.
With one final surge of fury, I throw everything I have into a crushing blow that connects with his jaw. His head snaps back, eyes rolling as he crumples to the floor. He lies there, sprawled and vulnerable, and something primal takes over. I lunge forward, ready to finish what he started years ago, my fist cocked back for another strike.
"NATE! STOP!"
Mom's scream pierces through the red haze. It's not anger in her voice—it's terror. Terror of me.
I freeze, knuckles white, breath heaving.
The sudden silence is deafening.
I look down at my hands, covered in his blood, and see his hands in mine.
"Scott, get up." Her voice is barely a whisper. "You need to get up and get out. Now."
He stumbles out, leaving me standing in the wreckage. I don't breathe until I hear the front door slam shut. When it does, Mom rushes to my side, tears streaming down her face.
I can't look at her.
I don't go to school the next day; instead, I end up at the lake house in Eden, the only place that ever felt like home. It's empty now, just a hollow shell of memories. The pier down at South End beach stretches out before me, cold and silent. I sit beneath it, hidden from the world, watching the water lap against the shore, wondering how everything got so fucked up. How I got so fucked up.
That's when I meet a kid with dark hair, dark clothes, tattoos in patches, and an attitude that screams fuck it all. He introduces himself as Jayden and he's no older than Jake.
"You look like hell, bro."
"Been a week,” I reply, taking another drag of my joint.
Our conversation reveals a kindred spirit—another soul running from a broken home. He introduces me to Monty, and just like that, my descent accelerates.
Most nights now I find myself at South End Beach. A different group of people each time. I don’t remember names and hardly remember faces.
Tonight, the acid I took hits differently than anything before. The sand beneath me transforms into something soft and endless, pulling me under. The beach seems to breathe with me, rising and falling in gentle waves until I feel a presence beside me.
She settles onto the sand with practiced grace, her blonde hair perfectly done up. When she turns to look at me, her eyes are the bluest I've ever seen—though somewhere in my hazy mind, I register disappointment that they aren't green.
"Beautiful night, isn't it?" Her voice floats somewhere above me, golden and distant, as if she's speaking through layers of water rather than sitting right beside me. She tells me her name is Farrah, as if I’m going to remember it come morning.
When my phone rings, she answers with casual dismissal.
Through the chemical haze, my thoughts drift to a different kind of escape—one with brown hair and a smile that could light up the darkest corners of my mind. Even now, the memory of her threatens to pull me back from this edge I'm dancing on. She'd see right through me with those knowing eyes, straight to the darkness I'm letting consume me.
Part of me wants her to save me.
The rest of me knows I'm already in too deep.
I close my eyes against the night sky, letting the high carry me further from the person she once knew. It's better this way—Nora’s memory of me preserved in summer days and innocent laughter, not this hollow shell I'm becoming. Every hit, every high, every bad decision pulls me further from her orbit, and maybe that's exactly where I need to be.
Because this path I'm choosing?
It's a one-way trip to somewhere she can never follow.