Chapter 18 The Past
THE PAST
CAIDEN’S CONDITIONING
This anger consumed me like an untamable fire, leaving a scar that would never heal. It swelled and pulsated every second of the day, infecting my veins and pushing me deeper into sin.
She was a vision of sweet softness, and I hated it. I wanted to ruin her until she was just as damaged as I was.
Deep down, I knew it wasn’t fair to her. I was a monster for unleashing my anger on her, for unleashing my father’s anger on her. Everything about her seemed to succumb to it.
I recognized that truth, yet I still pushed her every day. My innocence had long been extinguished, leaving me incapable of feeling empathy or sympathy. “Kill or be killed,” I repeated to myself throughout the day. Her fault. All her fault.
Smash.
The sound of glass fragments clinking against the ground pierced the air. I peeked into the room, only to shrink back immediately upon seeing my father in one of his rage-fueled moods.
As long as I kept my promise to remain an obedient son, I could stay clear of his violence, most of the time.
Bruises still came, but not as often.
“What are you looking at, boy?” My father’s face was a deep shade of red, clearly out of his mind.
Before I could escape, he grabbed me by the shirt and threw me to the ground.
“Why don’t you put yourself to some use and clean this shit up?”
I froze, gulping and shutting my eyes, bracing for the next hit. I may have been taller and older, but inside, I remained the same scared child. Paralyzed by fear and pain. My younger self lurked within me, silent and trembling.
My father kicked me with his foot. “Get on with it! Obey me!”
I sprang to my feet, grabbing a broom and hurriedly sweeping up the glass, slicing my hand in the process.
“Damn it! You’re getting blood all over the goddamn floor. Get the fuck out of here!”
He hurled a bottle at me, and my heart pounded in my chest. With weakened legs, I sprinted toward the front door and out into the open. I grabbed my bike, hopped onto it, and rode far away from the beast.
Blood gushed from my flesh, but I hardly noticed. Adrenaline and terror overwhelmed me. I rode until I could go no further, my bike collapsing alongside my body in the park onto the cool grass. I lay there, heaving breaths while staring up at the sky.
The clouds drifted slowly, and the cold wind froze my skin. I remained there until I heard footsteps approaching.
“Caiden?” A small voice broke through the silence. It reminded me of the way I would approach my father. Terrified, anticipating something terrible.
I turned my head and saw her standing a few feet away, her hair whipping around her face in the harsh wind.
Still, I didn’t speak. I merely stared, still slightly numb from the recent events.
“You’re bleeding,” Amelia stated, her voice soft yet steady. She stood firm, not backing away. Why wasn’t she running. Didn’t she fear me.
Slowly, I sat up, wincing as I caught sight of the trail of blood. The wound stung, yet I felt no urgency to return home and tend to it.
“Yeah. I cut myself.” I didn’t bother to elaborate. I just wanted to be alone.
I glanced at her again. She was nibbling on her bottom lip, as if contemplating whether to say more. She did.
“Do you need help?” she asked softly, her voice barely a whisper in the wind.
“No. I don’t need help. Especially not your help. Now fuck off.” I didn’t want her kindness. I didn’t deserve it. I wanted her to loathe me. At least that would make it easier to be cruel to her, to feel no guilt for my words and actions.
Her expression shifted, hurt flashing across her face before frustration took over.
“Fine. I was trying to be nice. It looked like you could use a friend but never mind.”
“We’re not friends!” I snapped, now standing on slightly wobbly legs.
“I know!” she shot back. “But just because you’re cruel to me doesn’t mean you’re not deserving of kindness. I guess I was wrong, though.”
I clenched my teeth and glared at her. “Yeah, don’t be kind to me. I don’t want it. Just let me suffer in peace.”
“Jerk,” I heard her mutter before she turned and stormed away.
I was left alone with my bitter thoughts and the merciless wind. I wasn’t sure how long I sat there, but it must have been a while.
Soon, darkness fell around me. My stomach howled for attention, and my skin felt like ice.
For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to entertain a vulnerable thought. I wanted her to come back, to feel her warmth envelop me, to be wrapped within it. Then memories of my mother surfaced, a longing for her touch.
But none of those things were accessible. They were impossible to obtain. I put up my guard again and walked home, dragging my bike beside me.
My father would be passed out by now, but safety was never a guarantee.
I was always teetering on crackling ice, waiting for it to shatter, for me to plunge into the cold depths below. It was inevitable. Collapsing into an endless black hole, nobody around to save me.
Nothing else mattered anymore except survival, holding on until a day came when I might not feel so broken. Hoping for a day when I could start anew, when I could feel love wholly and without fear.
But hope was a delicate thing, easily crushed. That dream was fading, becoming a mere hallucination. A delusion.
Hopeless. Helpless.
Those were my thoughts as I stepped inside the house of horrors, passing by my father, who lay passed out on the floor.
I crawled into bed, not bothering to eat or clean my cut. My body ached, and my head felt hazy.
I thought about my father. The lessons burned into me. Never show weakness, never back down, never let them see what’s really inside. I was supposed to be better than her. Stronger. But I wasn’t. Every time I tried to wreck her, it just made the mess inside my head worse.
The rage built up, pounding in my chest, until I wanted to hit something, rip the whole goddamn school apart, just so I didn’t have to feel this way.
But I did nothing.
I watched the halls empty, watched the light die, watched the world move on without me.
All I could think about was her. Amelia. The way she looked at me, even after everything. The way she tried to hold on, in spite of me.
I hated her more than anything.
But underneath that, there was something else. Something I could never name.
It scared the shit out of me.
So I fed the anger. I let it rot. Let it own me, the way my father owned the bottle.
Every night, the same. Every morning, the same. I pictured her, the next time I saw her. I promised myself I’d be even worse. I promised myself I’d never let her win.
Because the anger, the hate, was the only thing I could count on. If I ever lost that, I’d have nothing left. Just the empty space inside. Nothing but a hollow echo of a boy who never stood a chance.
And maybe that was what I deserved. Maybe that was the only honest thing there was.
The anger. The ache. The hunger to hurt, so I wouldn’t feel so fucking weak.
It’s a cycle that starts every day. And I’d let it. Because that’s who I was. And who I’d always be.
My last thought, before falling into a restless slumber, was of Amelia.