Chapter 11 Heath
HEATH
It’s late at night when I arrive home. I let out some stream at the underground and fought two matches.
The entire time I was imagining my opponents as Alex Hanson, and I might have gone a little overboard with the punches but I couldn’t stop myself.
I got hurt, too. It’s just bruises, they’ll heal.
I step into the foyer and find the lights on. It’s the first time Derek is sleeping otherwise he’s usually lurking around in the dark corners of the house. He rarely catches me sneaking out and the times he tails me I know how to shake him off.
I walk down the foyer into the hallway when the notes of soft conversation draw my attention. They are coming from the living room.
Curiosity gets the best of me and I enter the room only to find my parents. Dad is standing next to an anxious sitting Mom who’s fidgeting with her hands. He’s holding a teacup that’s steaming with hot liquid as he stares down at her.
“Drink it, Mia,” Dad says softly.
I find it ridiculous that Dad who is six-feet-two-inches is holding a flowery china teacup with saucer that looks so small and breakable in his hands.
“But he is not home yet,” Mom croaks out. “What if something has happened to him?” Panic rings in her voice.
Dad opens his mouth to say something but I interrupt. “You don’t need to wait up for me.”
Mom’s head whips towards me and she stands up. Coming towards me, she looks me up and down as if searching my body for injuries. “Heath—”
“I’m fine and you need to sleep.” No matter how many times I think about saying something cruel to her, seeing her like this breaks my resolve.
Her eyes have sunk into the sockets and her face is sharp and bony. Also, her body looks so weak.
She is sick.
I just need to know why.
My reply makes her take a step back. She watches me. “Why were you out so late? It’s past midnight. School ended hours ago.”
“I had things to do.” I don’t like coming home.
She frowns. “What things?”
She is worried, I get it. But I’ve lived my entire life without their interference. I’m not letting them control me now. We’re practically strangers.
Without a reply, I turn around and leave. Footsteps follow me and I roll my eyes.
“Heath! Wait.”
I race up the stairs to get rid of her but she’s persistent.
“I asked you a question.”
I ignore her.
“Where were you?”
I pretend she’s not there.
“Answer me!”
I don’t understand why she’s getting involved.
“I’m your mother.”
I stop in my tracks at those words.
My hearts pounds as my emotions get the best of me. Anger, frustration, sadness and grief cloud my head and I can’t withhold them from consuming me.
Looking over my shoulder, I level her with a glare. “My mother, you say?”
She stares back at me.
“Where were you my whole life? Why weren't you here?”
She pales. “I—”
“You have no right to ask me anything when you’re just a guest. You’ll stay here for a few weeks and then leave. I know you will.”
She stays quiet.
“So drop the act and just do what you do best, pretend that Emery and I don’t exist.” I scowl. “Oh wait, it’s only me now. The other one is dead.”
Tears fill her eyes and she reaches for her chest.
I should feel content at seeing the damage, but I feel nothing.
There are moments when I feel a tug on the bond that we share because of blood.
However, there is so much distance between us that it’s impossible to reach each other at this point.
I’m not familiar with her at all. She’s my mother.
I should love her and care about her. But all I feel are fleeting emotions for her that appear when she’s in front of me and disappear when she’s out of sight.
Dad turns the corner and freezes when he sees us.
“Heath, I’m—”
“Stay away from me and leave like you always do.”
Without waiting for her reply, I enter my room and close the door with a loud thud. Leaning against the door I rest my head against it and slip off the bag from my hands.
My chest feels tight. Every breath that I draw in brings pain.
I wonder if I’ll ever breathe freely without feeling like there too much in my chest.
In seconds, I can hardly breathe.
Panic attack. Just what I fucking needed.
I make my way to my bed, lie down and stare at the ceiling. I inhale long, deep breaths and then exhale slowly. I repeat it until the weight moves off my chest and oxygen easily flows through me.
The reason comes instantly.
I didn’t want to hurt Mom.
Fuck.
The look of her hurt and horror twist my insides now that I see it play on loop in my head.
Since they’ve come back, my emotions have been all over the place.
There is so much anger and frustration that makes me yell at them, but there’s also sympathy because only we three share the grief that Emery’s death left us.
My heart is filled with resentment, but there is a tiny corner that brightens up at the sight of them.
I’m not supposed to feel this way.
I can’t help it, though.
No one’s ever wait up for me. They didn’t sit in the living room wishing that I came home.
I run my fingers through my hair, feeling so conflicted.
With a sigh, I roll over to my side and retrieve my phone from my pocket. Quickly, I pull up my conversation with Rose and see that she still hasn’t replied to my last message.
I’m about to send a message to her when a knock raps on my door.
I stiffen for a moment before pulling myself up and making it to the door.
Dad stands on the other side, holding a tray with dinner: a plate of stir fry and rice.
He thrusts it in my direction. “Eat it.”
“I’m not hungry.”
He stares blankly. “Don’t you think you’ve upset your mother enough for tonight?”
I hate the guilt that stirs inside of me. “I only spoke the truth.”
“Which is you hate us.”
“Yes, and I want you gone.”
“I told you. We’ve permanently moved back so remove the idea from your head that we’re leaving.”
I smile in mock. “You will leave soon.”
Dad looks done with me. “We will not.” He presses the tray into my chest. “Eat it.”
“I told you—”
He glares. “You’ve done enough damage for today, son. Don’t push it or else.”
“Else what?”
His lips thin as if he knows exactly what he wants to say but doesn’t want to.
I narrow my eyes. “Say it.”
Something switches in his eyes and his demeanor changes.
The air of power and authority that he commands evaporates as he says, “I don’t want you to hurt your mother ever again.
You want to be mad, be mad at me. You want to yell, yell at me.
Don’t direct your cruel words or actions towards her. Nothing is her fault, it’s all mine.”
I gape at him in shock.
His eyes fill with pain. “What you said to her tonight broke her and I can’t take it.” He clears his throat. “So the next time you want to punish us, aim at me.”
“I don’t want to punish you,” I murmur, surprised that I said it.
Dad cocks a brow at me. “You want to. You blame us for Emery.”
I scoff. “Yeah, well, it is your fault.” You should have been here.
Pain and regret flash across his face and I know I’ve hit the mark.
I grab the tray from him and close the door.
Things between us will never change.