Chapter 41 - Ciarán
forty One-Ciarian
Time is the fire in which we burn.
I read that somewhere. Some dead philosopher or poet who knew shit I didn't. Someone who understood the way time eats at you, burning slow at first—just a little heat, a flicker—until suddenly, you’re fucking engulfed.
I felt it now. The heat licking at my heels. The smoke thick in my lungs. Time was slipping through my fingers, fast as fuck, and I couldn't grab hold. Couldn't slow it down.
I was running out of time.
With Jordin.
With everything.
I needed to talk to her.
But how?
Hey, Jordin. I'm bipolar. How the fuck would that sound?
I ran my tongue over my teeth. I was sitting by the pool, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in my hand.
I still hadn’t taken my pills and was now resorting to drowning out the noise in my head the unhealthy way.
I knew I should take them, knew I was walking the edge, but I wasn’t ready to pull myself back.
My phone rang, the screen lighting up with an unknown number. Fuck it. Probably Tyrell on some bullshit about the new album.
It rang again. And again. Until I finally answered.
“Ciarán?” The voice was unfamiliar, cold and clinical. “This is Sergeant Daniels from the county jail. I’m calling to inform you that your father, Darryl James, was found deceased in his cell earlier this evening. It appears to be a suicide. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Loss.
That word stuck, but nothing else did. The rest turned into background noise, muffled and distant, like the static in my head had swallowed it whole.
The bottle in my hand felt heavier. Or maybe my arms just felt weak. My whole body felt hollow, like someone had sucked the air out of me.
I sat there, frozen, the phone pressed to my ear as the world spun.
“What?” I finally choked out.
The sergeant repeated himself, his voice cold and matter-of-fact, like he was telling me my car had been towed, not that my father had hung himself in a fucking cell.
I didn’t hear most of it. All I could think about was the last time I’d seen him—after he’d broken into my house. When I pointed a gun at his head.
I hung up without saying goodbye, my hands trembling as I set the phone down. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just sat there, staring at the water, feeling like I was drowning. It was too hot. I yanked my shirt over my head, dropped it on the ground, and pulled in a ragged breath.
Jordin found me like that an hour later. She’d been asleep. I don’t know how much time had passed. She walked out onto the patio, her hair messy from sleep, her eyes wide with concern.
“Ciarán?” she said softly, kneeling beside my chair. “Why aren’t you in bed? It’s three. What’s wrong?”
I didn’t answer. The words were stuck in my throat, like if I said them out loud, they’d become real.
“Ciarán,” she said again, her voice firmer. “Talk to me.”
“He’s dead,” I finally said. “My father. He killed himself. In jail.”
Her eyes widened, her lips parting slightly. For a moment, she just stared, waiting for me to take it back. When I didn’t, her hand reached out, fingers brushing my arm.
“Ciarán, I’m so sorry.” Her voice was soft, careful. Like she was talking to a child. That pissed me off.
I ripped my arm away.
She flinched, but I didn’t give a fuck. My head was too loud, my chest too tight. I was burning from the inside out.
She dropped her hand. “I care because I care about you,” she said, her voice rising. “I know this is hard, but you don’t have to push me away.”
“You think this is hard? My father hated me, Jordin. I hated him, and now he’s dead, and it’s my fault.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said, firm. “You didn’t make him do this.”
“I might as well have!” The words exploded from me.
I was on my feet, knocking the chair over behind me.
The crash barely registered over the pounding in my ears.
“I put him in that fucking jail! I pointed a gun at his head and told him to get out of my life! What the fuck did I think was gonna happen?”
Jordin’s eyes blazed. “You didn’t think he was going to kill himself!
And so what if he did, Ciarán? He made his choices!
You didn’t do this! You are not responsible for somebody else’s actions, and from what you’ve told me about him, he probably knew this would be the result!
You blaming yourself doesn’t change shit! ”
I gritted my teeth. “You don’t get it!” I roared, my voice shaking. “You don’t know what it’s like to hate someone and still need them! To wish they were dead and then feel like shit when they are!”
“You’re right, I don’t,” she shot back. “But I know what it’s like to lose someone, and I know what it’s like to feel alone. But you’re not alone, Ciarán. You have me. You have people who care about you. People that aren’t trying to rob you and pull you back into some bullshit.”
I didn’t respond. The anger and guilt were a whirlpool inside me. I turned and walked away, leaving her standing there as I stormed out.
I didn’t think. My car keys were in my hand before I realized it. The engine of my Dodge Charger roared to life, and I was gone, tires screeching.
The speedometer climbed. 80. 90. 100.
The road stretched out, dark and endless. Streetlights blurred into gold streaks. The hum of the engine drowned out everything.
It’s your fault. You did this. You killed him.
I gripped the wheel tighter, breath coming in short gasps. I didn’t know how long I drove, but eventually, the storm inside me calmed. The anger faded, leaving a hollow ache.
I pulled over, the car idling on the shoulder. My hands trembled as I let go of the wheel. I stared out at the empty highway.
Why? Why can't I get a fucking break?
I turned the car around and headed back.
Jordin was waiting on the couch, arms wrapped around herself, eyes red. She looked up when I entered, sighing in relief.
“Ciarán,” she said softly, standing.
I didn’t speak. I just crossed the room and pulled her into my arms, holding her tight. She didn’t complain. She just held me back, her hands rubbing soothing circles on my back.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, Jordin. Please don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she promised. “I’m here, Ciarán. I’m not leaving you.”
We stayed like that until the tears stopped and the ache dulled to something bearable. She led me to the bedroom and held me until I fell asleep.
But sleep didn’t last.
I woke up hours later, mind racing, body restless. I slipped out of bed and went back to the pool. The night air was cool, the water still and dark.
I heard his heavy footfalls approaching.
“Ciarán,” Oak said, his voice low and hesitant.
I didn’t look up. I just stared at the water, fists clenched on my knees.
It's your fault, the voice in my head repeated.
I felt Oak watching me. He stood for a moment, debating. Finally, he sat on the edge of the pool a few feet away. He didn’t speak at first, just stared at the water with me.
“I’m sorry about your loss,” he said after a long silence. His voice was quiet, but there was something in his tone that made me look up.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said, my voice rough. “You don’t have to pretend you care.”
“Honestly, I don’t give a fuck about you, but Jordin does, and I don’t want her hurting,” he said, meeting my eyes.
“Damn, tell me how you really feel,” I chuckled.
He chuckled back. “I read about you and your father. I don’t know what your feelings are, but… I know what it’s like to lose someone complicated.”
I stared, surprised by his honesty. “What do you mean?”
He sighed, running a hand over his face. “My grandfather. He died a few years back. My father hated him—used to tell stories about how abusive he was. But to me and my brother? He was just Grandpa. He taught us how to fish, how to throw a football. He was… different with us. Kinder.”
I listened.
“When he died,” Oak continued, “it hurt. Bad. But my dad? He didn’t shed a tear. Just said he was finally free. And I… I couldn’t even grieve. Not without feeling like I was betraying my father.”
I looked away, my throat tight. “That’s fucked up.”
“Yeah,” Oak said. “It is. But that’s family, right? You love them, you hate them, and when they’re gone, you don’t know how to feel. You just… feel everything at once.”
I nodded. That was exactly it. Everything at once. “I didn’t want him dead,” I said, my voice breaking. “I didn’t like him, but I didn’t want him dead. And now… I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m… I don’t even know.”
Oak was quiet for a moment, choosing his words. “You don’t have to figure it out right now,” he said. “It’s okay to just… feel it. Even if it doesn’t make sense.”
I laughed, though I shouldn’t have. “Will I be as wise as you when I’m old as you?”
“Fuck you,” he laughed.
I blew out a breath.
“Thanks,” I said. “For coming out here. Under the circumstances.”
He nodded, stood, and walked away.
I turned back to the pool. The water was dark and smooth as glass. My reflection stared back—a hollow-eyed stranger, burned down to embers.