Chapter 32 #2
The first six months or so after they adopted me, I got into fights and I acted out a lot.
I don’t know why I did it. I guess I was just so fucking mad all the time.
But then I realized that, at the end of the day, they didn’t have to choose me.
They could’ve gotten a baby, a toddler, or anyone besides me—a messed up kid from an even more messed up childhood.
Yet, they wanted me to be their son. From then on, I behaved myself.
But I also stopped thinking about the past because I had a nice family, a huge house, and anything I could want.
I figured it was time for me not to talk about the past again.
But the older I get, the more I realize I can’t just shed that layer of my life and pretend it didn’t happen.
Not when that layer is the whole foundation of who I am today.
I’m hard on myself because I was raised to think if I fucked up, I’d get beat.
I’m competitive because I’ve had to work my ass off to make it this far, and I don’t want to throw it away.
I’m quiet sometimes because there were moments as a kid when I wasn’t allowed to talk.
I connect someone—even if it’s my own girlfriend—telling me I could use extra help in school to me being stupid because that’s how my dad made me feel.
Everything I am starts with that underweight, scrawny little boy in my dream. The one with the greasy hair and the fear in his eyes because he knew he was going to be punished. It’s hard to leave him in the past when I wish I could help him now.
“D?” my mom whispers, putting a hand on mine. “We’re here for you, whenever you need to talk, okay?”
I don’t look at either of my parents, but instead keep my eyes fixated on the black granite countertop in front of me. Everything inside has been weighing me down for days, and maybe talking about it will make it worse, but it’s worth a try because I fucking hate feeling this way.
“I had a nightmare the other night,” I start. “A nightmare of the day—” My throat forces me to stop, closing in, but I swallow, pushing through. “The day my birth parents died.”
“Oh, Dallas,” my mom whispers sadly, lifting her hand from mine and putting her head against my shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
My dad comes closer, reaching across the counter, patting my hand. “You can talk to us about it, D. It might help.”
“It happened the other night after … Haven suggested that I get some sort of testing done to help me in school,” I say, stopping when my throat aches with shame.
“I was mad and went to bed after. And then, when I fell asleep, I was back there, walking home from school on a day I’d failed a test and they called my dad.
” I shift around nervously, hating the feeling of them both staring at me.
“Most times, he couldn’t be reached. And my mother?
She’d never talked to the school. But that day …
they somehow got ahold of him and told him about the test, my grades, and how I needed extra help.
” I close my eyes for just a second, almost to reset my mind to push through this.
“My dad was waiting for me at the door when I got home. He was mad—really mad.” I blink a few times slowly, trying to will the image from my mind.
“He pulled me inside the house and started my beating, but then …” My head hangs, the words dying in my throat.
“There was the sound of a gunshot. It was so loud. And then … he stood over me.” I swallow.
“I watched the life fade from his eyes before he fell right beside me. And I was …” My voice is hardly a whisper now.
“I was relieved. I knew he could never hurt me again.”
I take a moment to gather myself, but my parents don’t talk. They just continue to pat my hand or rub my back, letting me know they’re here.
“My mom shot him. And when she told me to run, and told me she was sorry for everything, I didn’t realize that once I left the house, she was planning to kill herself.” I exhale a long breath.
“My father, as fucked up as it sounds, in my eyes deserved to die because of the pain he had inflicted day in and day out on me and my mother.” Words that I’ve never spoken aloud come out, and even though I should be ashamed, I feel nothing.
“My mother, she may have been a terrible mom, but she wasn’t a bad person.
She didn’t want to hurt anyone, even if she did by neglecting me and not standing up for me sooner, but it was never with ill intent.
I just … don’t think she was capable of loving me.
” I fight back tears that want to come, but I’m not allowing it.
“I don’t think she was capable of loving anyone because she didn’t love herself. But she didn’t deserve to die.”
“Sweetie, that wasn’t your fault,” my mom whispers, her voice shaky. “I hope you know that.”
“It kind of was though,” I admit. “If I hadn’t failed the test that day, if my stupid fucking brain could just be normal, at the very least, she wouldn’t have had to kill him and then herself.” I shrug my shoulders, feeling like they weigh a thousand pounds. “I think it was my fault.”
Slowly, my dad walks around the island. Sitting down onto the stool opposite me, he wraps his arms around my shoulders.
“I think your mom was hurting, and I think she couldn’t leave you until she knew your dad wouldn’t be around to hurt you ever again,” he whispers, his voice filled with more sadness than I’ve ever heard before.
“It may seem like she didn’t love you, but the truth is, bud, I bet she stuck around as long as she did just for you.
Maybe that’s not enough, but still, I think she did her best. And I know she didn’t blame you.
If she did, she wouldn’t have told you she was sorry, and she wouldn’t have told you to run.
” He squeezes me for a long time before he moves my stool so that I’m facing him.
“Look at me, Dallas,” he says, and even though it takes me a moment, finally, my eyes lift to his.
“You know about the accident a few of my friends were in when I was in high school. You’ve heard the story, but what you don’t know is that, for a long time, I pushed everyone away because I felt so damn guilty.
I thought it was my fault—part of me still feels like it was.
” He exhales slowly, looking at my mom. “But then someone came into my life and woke me up after I’d been going through the motions, carrying all that weight.
” His eyes move back to mine. “Haven doesn’t think you’re stupid, D.
She sees all the potential inside you and wants to help.
” He grips my shoulder. “Don’t waste time pushing her away because you think you’re not worthy of her love.
Let her decide that.” His lips turn up the slightest bit.
“And if you ask me, she decided long ago that you were worth it.”
“He’s right,” my mom whispers, rubbing my back. “And you know what?”
Turning forward, I look over at her. “What?”
“That nightmare? All these hard feelings? It may make you feel like you’re drowning, but do you know what I think?
I think this is what healing looks like.
” She smiles sadly, tears pooling in her eyes.
“We’ve always known that eventually, the past would come up.
It always does. But I think it took you finally opening your heart to Haven for the healing process to begin.
” She puts her hand on my cheek. “The thing about healing? It’s not always comfortable.
But it’s needed to move on.” She leans forward, kissing my forehead.
“And your dad and I will be here for you every step of the way.”
I let her words absorb into my mind, and even though I have my doubts, maybe she’s right. Maybe I had to face my demons before I could fight them. My motto has always been to keep everything inside, but the truth is, eventually, I should have known I would erupt.
I’ve been standoffish with Haven for days, not because I’m mad at her but because I couldn’t regulate my own feelings, and I didn’t want to project them onto her.
Tonight though, tonight is Noah’s birthday dinner at the arcade, and I’m going to make sure she knows that I really do love her. That I’m done running away.
I hug my mom once more.
“I love you, Dallas,” she whispers. “We’ll always be here, okay?”
“I love you guys,” I say, releasing her and hugging my dad. “Thanks for choosing me.”
“We’d choose you in a room full of a million kids every time, D,” my dad says, squeezing me tightly, his voice thick with emotion. “You complete our family.”
I smile, my chest swelling because even though they’ve always told me that I was the missing piece to their puzzle, this is the first time I really believe them when they say it.
They didn’t have to choose an eleven-year-old boy with a past that would mess anyone up. But they did. And they’ve never once made me feel like they regretted it.
Haven chose me, even though she knows my dark side. Now it’s time I make her know that I chose her, too.