Chapter Ten #3
I don’t look back… I focus on moving forward, like I always do. Holding on to my pain because it’s mine to bear. Mine to hold.
The smell of urine mingles in the air, and my eyes roam through the piles of dirty laundry, empty beer cans, and even more liquor bottles, and the cigarette butts around the dresser.
And I wish I could say that it’s the sight before me that has me speechless.
But it’s the cologne that wraps around the stench like flame—pushing out the darkness and filling with light.
“Maybe he’s not here,” Thiago says from beside me as he leans into the door.
I turn to look at him, my lips parting to speak.
My heart flutters wildly within my chest when I spot the boots on the floor.
Slowly, I inch closer until I’m turning the corner of his bed, and there he lies on his back, eyes wide and fixed.
My vision blurs, and maybe that’s why I can’t see any rise in his chest. He’s just sleeping. Too drunk… But I didn’t need to check to know that my father is dead. Suddenly, I’m a little kid again. A kid who only wanted the love of his father… For somebody to care…
“Da-” My voice breaks, and a rush of emotions floods through every cell in my body—locking me in place.
“Pops,” I repeat, but it’s more like a pained groan that escapes my lips.
My knees wobble, and the ground shifts below me, catching me off balance.
I fall to my knees, feeling Thiago rush to my side. There’s no point rushing to a dead man.
Because that’s what he is. Dead.
His mouth opened, yellow foam spilling from the corner mixed with his vomit, his pants soiled, chest unmoving, and eyes glazed over.
In his hands, a picture frame that makes my nails dig into the dirty carpet that smells of urine and smoke.
The golden frame stands out in the shadows, and the picture inside is of her cradling her swollen stomach.
The only picture that withstood our anger and time, even though the image is a little fuzzy.
I feel something warm run down my cheek, and Thiago's thumb brushes it away as quickly as it falls.
I don’t know when it happens, but I break.
And there Safra is, catching me right into his fucking arms. My hands are fists on his shirt; I should be embarrassed.
What am I doing? Why am I crying? But the tears keep coming out, each sob working its way violently through my body until the dam overflows and my grief spills out of me in torrential waves that crash into him.
“I got you, Ruas,” he whispers over and over, until his warmth leaves me. “Te peguei…” 2
The coldness of the room, of my life, swallows me again.
Once again, I feel like a little kid wishing for his dad to get better— for me.
The reality of it has me sobbing into my hands.
Pressing my palms into my eyes until all I can see is darkness.
A wail rips through me, my heart ripping from inside my chest. I don’t know what hurts me—that he’s dead or the fact that I care so much.
Or maybe it’s the heaviness that lifts knowing that he’s gone.
Despite it all, it’s a hard pill to swallow.
That even though he was a piece of shit to me, it still fucking hurts.
I just wanted a dad, and once again, he robbed me of it.
I let my arms fall to my side, and through my tears, I can see Thiago looking for a pulse, looking for a lie.
Maybe a dream he can sell to me. He shakes his head and confirms what I already knew.
A low chuckle slips past my lips as I look at the man who showed me nothing but neglect, anger, and pain.
Still, I cry for him, for the father I could’ve had, for the one I never got, and for the one I will never have.
How pathetic could I be? Maybe Pops was right all along.
I am too unlovable for anyone to want to stay.
Maybe that’s why Nico is even putting himself in the crossfire… Does he want to leave me, too?
Slowly, the tides turn, and the overwhelming and oppressive pain shifts to indifference. To nothing, like the empty body lying on the ground. Sure, his body is no longer alive now, but the truth is, he’s been dead for a very long time.
“Z, I need to call someone,” Thiago murmurs, his two fingers sliding down my father’s lids, closing his eyes. I can’t help the scoff that escapes me, the look of disdain I offer to my father.
“You shouldn’t care,” I say, referring to the act of kindness he’s offering.
He didn’t deserve it. Safra opens his mouth to speak, and I brace myself, waiting for a snarky response.
Nothing comes. I inhale deeply, watching Thiago’s eyebrows furrow, and his hand darts out to grab the golden picture frame.
A question forms in his mind, evidenced by the puzzled look on his face.
I wonder why?
Does it shock him to see my mother? I look just like her, and just when I open my mouth to speak. Thiago looks up at me, his hand shaking, and something in his eyes confuses me. I can’t decipher the look on his face. “Is this your mom?”
I nod, wiping my tears.
Thiago goes still, all the color drains from his face as his fingers tremble around the frame.
“Zayden,” he whispers, but whatever he’s about to say doesn't come out.
Safra just sits back, resting his head on the wall.
Once again, I find my mouth opening to speak, only to quickly slam it shut.
Unsure of what to say as Safra looks like I just punched him in the gut.
His focus is wrestling between the picture and me.
This goes on for a while, silence settling between us before he pulls out his phone and calls for help.
His voice is calm as he gives the information and alerts authorities that there’s no emergency.
There's no need for paramedics, so he asks for someone who can pick up the body. By the time he’s off the phone, I’m no longer on my knees, just sitting in the very spot I would sit as a kid.
Watching as he breathed, making sure he never overdosed, and if he did, I would run to the black bag that contained the medicine that made him better.
Never the cops, that was the only clear instruction.
The memory invokes a feeling I’ve forgotten, because it was like a second skin.
Alone. The fear of being all alone in this world had me become his babysitter.
I chuckle, a tear slipping past my cupid’s bow.
How silly I was when I was still innocent.
A boy who longed for love and a parent. Only to receive none.
Not a mom.
Not a dad.
Most certainly not love.
The irony is, I start to laugh because it’s better than crying.
Thiago inches closer just as I crawl towards the man I hate…
The man I fucking love and the man who broke me long before Villalargos did.
I rise to my feet and spit on his face. Anger and resentment are all I cling to, because that’s how I survived him. His abuse. His punches.
“I FUCKING HATE YOU!” I shout, “I FUCKING HATE YOU!”
“Ruas.” Thiago’s hand shoots to my shoulder, but I shove him off. Before I can stop my leg from moving, I swing back and kick full force forward. His corpse moves slightly when I land another blow, Thiago quickly intercepting.
“Hey… hey…” He breathes out the words, like a prayer soothing my splitting soul. The anger begins to leave my body with each exhale, and before I know it, I sink into Safra, but not before giving my father more parting words.
“Look at you, dead, fucking dead. Good fucking riddance,” I bite out, my shoulders sagging and my body melting into Thiago. His arms wrap around me so tight as if he could shove himself inside. “I hate him.”
“You should let it all out.”
A pained groan escapes my lips, followed by more curses, “Fuck you, David.”
With that, I storm out of his room and into the living room.
Pacing in circles as my fingers thread into my hair.
I pull at the strands, my shoulders shaking with each breath.
The air feels too thin… too thick… and soon, too suffocating when Thiago steps into it.
He’s only a few steps behind me, but he might as well be beside me.
“Zayden…”
I turn around to face him, my eyes wide and burning with pressure that gathers within them. I must look as mad as I feel, given the look on Safra’s face. His hand moves to console me, only to be slapped away by mine.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I snarl, nose flaring as I walk towards him. He takes two cautious steps back, and I can’t help but enjoy what I’m seeing. This is my turf… My game, and for the first time…. He’s in my domain.
I back him into the wall, my hand wrapping around his throat.
I don’t know whether I want to beat him or fuck him.
All I know is that I slam him into the wall, hard enough to rattle the door and for pictureless frames to fall to the ground.
Thiago’s breath catches, his pulse racing beneath my touch, and yet, he doesn’t fight back.
He doesn’t even lift a hand. I cock my fist back, letting it hover in the air like a threat.
His eyes are glassy and full of challenge.
And all that keeps running through my mind is why…
“WHY—” I ask, hating the way my voice cracks when I scream the word at him. He barely swallows, his gaze locked on mine. “WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?”
Thiago's chest rises with his inhale; it’s slow and steady. “Because you shouldn’t be alone right now.”
My grip tightens, nails digging into his soft flesh, but still, he doesn’t give. My jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as I hold back the urge to squeeze the life out of him.
“You don’t get to say that…” I spit, but there’s no real bite behind my words.
“You don’t get to be here for me. Not after—” I can’t bring myself to finish my words.
I let them die within the cemetery of everything I’ve ever longed to say.
Thiago swallows hard, his Adam's apple pressing against the palm of my hand.
Breathing becomes a chore, one impossible to fulfill when you’re past exhaustion. I’m fucking tired. So tired… and then he speaks and undoes every lock I’ve put in place to keep him out. “Just let me be here for you. Let me in, Ruas.”
My grip falters before slipping away altogether.
Softly, I tap his cheek and give him a snarky smile, almost turning away.
Trying desperately to rein in my emotions and steady my pulse that continues to drum away.
My hands curls into fists at my side, emotions flickering between rage, grief, and utter disbelief.
All this fighting and getting absolutely nowhere.
The battle becomes futile when Thiago's soft voice cuts through the static, pulling me out of my haze.
“Hit me…”
Through my lashes, I look at him, unsure that I heard him correctly. Then he repeats the words and adds more to them this time.
“Hit me. If that’s what you need. If that’s what’s gonna get you through the next five minutes, hit me. I’ve been told my face is quite punchable.”
My fist trembles, along with my shoulders, which move with each deep jitter that rips through my chest. Any other day, I think I would have taken him up on his offer, but I can’t.
I just stand before him, motionless and speechless, looking at him, like he’s my damnation wrapped in everything I could possibly want.
This time, I turn away when the sound of a car pulling in catches my attention.
There’s no more words exchanged between us, I only open the door and step to the side.
Thankfully, one of us isn’t a useless piece of shit right now, because my mind checks out, just as Safra's lips begin to move, guiding the coroner to where he is. My vision tunnels, and I step outside. Pulling out a cigarette and choking on the smoke. Each drag calms my overworked nerves and trembling hands…. It takes about thirty minutes, then what’s left of my father is placed in the back of the van, the doors slamming shut, and it drives away with the only family I ever had.
1. Streets
2. “Got you…”