Chapter 35
CAIDEN
When I awoke to the sound of somebody calling my name, their hands shaking me as I laid on the ground, I couldn’t recall anything that had happened that night.
For a moment, after I opened my eyes, I stared at the black sky and wondered if I had crashed my car and died.
Then, slowly, like a montage of moments, flashes slipped through my head. I recalled being at the bar and drinking. Seeing Dante. Walking so far until my feet hurt.
I remembered the feel of flames, but I couldn’t remember where the fire was coming from in my head.
“You son of a bitch. You actually did it. You burned the house down.”
I furrowed my brows in confusion and looked to my right. A figure crouched beside me. My eyesight was blurry, and I still had a lot of alcohol in my system, even after passing out for however long I’ve been out.
“What the fuck happened?” I grumbled more to myself than the figure. I sat up and rubbed my head. It fucking hurt. I realized I had passed out on the ground.
What the fuck did I do?
Nothing good ever happened when I drank that much.
A walking destruction, just like my alcoholic father.
“How much do you remember? This would be really awkward if you don’t recall catching up at the bar.” The voice spoke again, and I slowly came to my senses as to who it was.
“Dante? What the fuck are you doing here?”
He sighed and gave me his hand to help me up. I took the help.
“Amelia was worried when she noticed you hadn’t returned. We met up and talked tonight. I had texted her, and she said she needed to be picked up. I guess you forgot that you needed to do that in your drunkenness.”
Dante spoke slowly, as if revealing something to a child who could break at any moment. There was no judgement on his face, only concern. A small hint of disappointment.
I didn’t take offense. When I drank, I might as well be a psychotic yet fragile child. Lashing out at anybody who dared to get too close, breaking at the slightest inconvenience.
“Fuck,” I whispered, then screamed it louder as I angrily kicked a rock. “Fuck! I can’t believe it. I fucking let her down again. Why am I so damn stupid?”
Dante leaned against his car, which was parked on the neighborhood road beside us. “Don’t worry, I think she understood, though she might have felt hurt.”
“I wouldn’t blame her if she hated him. I fucking abandoned her after her mom died so I could get fucked up on booze, all because I’m a coward, and I hated having to face this town and my father’s ghost.” I leaned against the car too, staring up at the sky, wishing to be swallowed by it.
“It all worked out, man. I texted her, and as I said, she requested I pick her up. I took her to get some food, we had a nice talk, and now she’s safe at the motel.
” He didn’t look at me, like there was a guilty truth he was holding back, but I didn’t pry.
“I didn’t think you would do what you did to that house.
I smelled the smoke when I came through this way looking for you.
I thought you might be there, but I didn’t expect to see a burnt pike of wood and ashes. ”
It dawned on me what he meant. “Are you saying I set my childhood home on fire? I don’t remember doing that.”
Dante nodded. “Yep. Saw it for myself. Didn’t see you, so I drove through here slowly, thought I might see you walking, but instead I saw you passed out in the grass by the road.”
He looked at me like he was waiting for me to process it, to try on the feeling and see if it fit. My mind was blank, or maybe it was just trying very hard not to settle on the truth of what I’d done.
“Jesus Christ,” I croaked, shaking. “Was it—were there—fuck, was anyone in there?”
Dante’s look softened, like he’d been ready for this question. “No. Place was empty. Has been for years, right? Nobody’s stepped foot in it since your dad died, far as anybody knows. Nobody got hurt, unless you count yourself. Or the ghosts.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. My hands were shaking, not from the cold but from a tremor that started in the pit of my stomach and radiated out, a slow-motion explosion.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I stared at my hands, expecting them to be covered in blood, but finding only dirt ground into the knuckles and a smoky residue under the nails.
Dante was quiet for a long time. His head tilted toward the tree line. “I used to think you did it on purpose. The self-sabotage. Like you found a way to destroy everything before it could destroy you first.”
I snorted, and the taste of smoke came back. “You think I wanted to end up like this? A fuck-up who ruins everything?”
He shrugged, not unkind. “Nobody wants it, Caiden. But you wear it like armor.”
I tried to remember exactly how it felt, lighting the flame, watching the old place go up. There was a clarity to it, a perfect moment when time held its breath. But on the other side of that was nothing. No relief. Just a bigger, rawer hole.
I bent over and heaved, spitting bile onto the shoulder. “Fuck,” I croaked again, this time softer, for no one but myself. The world spun at the edges, like it wanted to throw me off.
Dante let me breathe it out. He never was one for speeches, just waited until the worst of the tremors passed. After a while, he nudged a bottle of water into my hand. I gulped it down.
“You need a ride?” Dante’s voice was so gentle that it made me wince. Like being offered a hand after you’d already punched your own teeth out.
“Yeah, that may be for the best.” My legs still felt like rubber. I wanted to punish myself, let the cold and the miles rub away some of the shame. But the weariness took over, and I agreed to convenience.
He nodded and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. I watched his lighter flicker in the dark and remembered the feel of flame in my own hand, how easy it was to destroy something that had always seemed indestructible.
“Hey,” I said, not sure what I meant to follow it with, but the word hung between us like a truce. “Thanks for not letting me rot out here.”
“No problem,” he said, his gaze falling into the distance. “We all got some part in the wreckage. Some of us are just better at hiding the matches.”
Eventually, we went into his car. He asked if I wanted to see the damage to the house. I shook my head and told him to keep driving.
"I can't go back to the motel right now," I said. "I can't let Amelia see me like this. I'm afraid I'll say something that hurts her." My chuckle was hollow and sad. "I always manage to say the wrong thing when I've been drinking."
“You can crash at my place. It’s a nice one-story house. Not very pretty, but it’ll do.”
I stared at him for a minute, and in the dark it was easier to let my face be seen. “You’re not afraid I’ll puke on your couch?”
Dante snorted. “I’ve had worse people puke on my couch. Besides, you’re barely standing. You’ll pass out before you can even find the bathroom.”
I wanted to make a joke, or to tell him to fuck off, but my mouth was suddenly thick, and my tongue had no sense of direction. I nodded, grateful in a way I couldn’t speak, and followed him into the passenger seat before my knees gave out.
He drove with the window cracked, letting the cold in so I wouldn’t drift off and choke on my own tongue. The smell of the distant fire clung to us.
His house was on the edge of town, one of those shingled boxes with a porch light that flickered like it was signaling distress. There was a dent in the garage door where someone had reversed too quickly, and the yard was a mixture of mud and grass. I felt at home just looking at it.
Dante led me in, kicking off his shoes at the threshold and tossing his keys in a chipped bowl. The living room was crowded with furniture that didn’t match, a lumpy sectional, and a table scarred with old cigarette burns.
You want a shower?” he asked, eyeing my filthy shape.
I grunted, “Yeah.”
Though I knew I didn’t deserve the comfort.
Dante led me to the bathroom and handed me a towel. The light was too bright, exposing, so I showered in the dark. The water hit my skin, and I half expected it to hiss off, steam rising as it tried to boil the last of the poison from my veins.
When I came out, hair dripping, Dante had laid a pair of sweats and a cotton shirt on the ground. I grabbed the clothes and stepped back into the bathroom, tossing them on.
After a few minutes, I walked back out into the main part of the house.
“Alright, man. I’m beat. You can stay up, but I’m gonna get some sleep.” Dante yawned as he finished setting up the mattress that pulled out from the couch.
“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll see you in the morning,” I said, sitting on the mattress.
He disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door.
I let my mind wander. I still couldn’t believe I burnt the fucking place down. Maybe it was for the best. One less thing that tied me to his ghost.
My mind drifted to Amelia, how I left her at her dead mother’s house, and how upset she probably was when I didn’t come back.
I had checked my phone after Dante picked me up and saw her text messages asking me to come get her. I can’t believe I was too drunk to even check my phone.
Grabbing my phone, I opened her messages again and typed out a text.
Sorry. I’m okay. Hope you’re okay. With Dante. I got fucked up and left my car at the bar, thankfully, he found me
The text went unanswered, and I figured she was sleeping.
I fell back onto the fold-out in Dante’s living room, a blanket tossed over me, the cheap polyester scratchy against my bare arms. I listened to the clock tick and the refrigerator cycle on and off.
The house settled and clicked; the world outside was pitch, a thick velvet that pressed against the windows. I was tired, but my body wouldn’t surrender.
All I could do was lie there, staring at the ceiling, letting the dull ache behind my forehead throb in time with my heartbeat.
I wanted to text her again, to try to explain, but nothing seemed right. Sorry. I fucked up. I always do.