31. Good at Letting Go
Chapter thirty-one
Good at Letting Go
NOAH
Friday. The day was uneventful.
Motionless.
I spent most of my time lying in bed, popping more sleeping pills so I could drift off into that drowsy state once again. It was a cycle: I’d fade away, slowly return, and then drift off again. I was stuck in limbo, like the tide rolling in and out on pale sands, covering me.
Evening came quickly, and though I had finally awakened, I had no desire to make my way to the kitchen where my mom and brother were. Over the last few days, I could see the worry in my mom’s eyes. It was becoming hard to miss.
“He’s sleeping too much,” I’d catch her whispering to Damian as I passed them by.
It felt like he was always watching me, like I was some sort of confined animal—feral by instinct but somehow trapped in a temporary cage.
They were waiting for me to slip up, just keeping an eye out in case I lashed out. In case I broke free.
Or, in case I finally lost it, and went off the deep end.
I had to admit, there were times when losing it didn’t seem so bad.
The little things, like the clock ticking, tied me in knots.
The annoying, repetitive, relentless noise made me want to lobotomize myself.
And my brother’s lectures, though I knew he meant well, only made me ache to rebel.
I began to feel that’s what they wanted me to do—snap, so they could confine me, punish me, and mold me.
They thought they could train the issues out of me, like a dog learning the right spots to shit.
What they didn’t realize was that the problem ran deeper than just my behaviors. But honestly? I’d lost the energy to even try to explain it to them.
I’d lost my will.
Gone.
And strangely, it felt normal. Not caring. Not wondering anymore why I was so fucked up. Just accepting the fact that I was. It was liberating.
I held in my emotions, and I could feel my family growing uneasy because of it. I didn’t talk back. I just nodded and did whatever was asked of me. Why not? I didn’t really care. If something wasn’t in my interest at the moment, I’d respond with a simple “Later” and push it to the back of my mind.
Lately, I started to notice how little I was eating. What could I say? My appetite had vanished completely. Food repulsed me.
Then, on this particularly uneventful Friday, Damian insisted I come to the dining room. He warned me that if I refused to eat my dinner, there would be consequences. Normal me would have shot him the finger. But the new me just complied. So, I sat at the table and forced myself to eat.
Damian supervised from the other side of the table. Good trainer.
Each bite felt like a struggle, and I wanted to gag, but I swallowed it down, finishing the plate without really tasting anything. It was a strange mix of obligation and emptiness, and I couldn’t shake the feeling no matter how hard I tried.
Drowsily, I pushed the empty plate forward. There was an oxycodone in my mom’s bathroom cabinet with my name on it. “Can I go back to my room now?”
Damian crossed his arms over his lap. “What is bothering you, Noah? I am your brother. You can tell me anything.”
I shakily reached for the glass of water and took a sip.
“Father! He makes me do that to him, so I thought…I thought–”
“You know that don’t you, Noah?” Damian continued, eyebrows furrowing.
“Yes.”
“Then,” Damian’s face was stern. “Is there anything? Anything at all that you would like to say?”
The door slammed.
I set down the glass.
“Hello, Heather.”
Damian gave me an observant look, and I made every effort to keep myself from shivering.
“Be a man, Noah.”
“Hello, son.” The comment was directed to Damian, of course.
When I looked up, I saw David, the smile for Damian morphing into a grimace as it met my face.
“Why, Noah,” he feigned surprise, a smirk toying at his lips. “Did someone hurt your eye?”
My eyes locked on him. I could see my mom in my peripheral vision stop mid stride to the table. Damian stiffened. The room was deathly quiet.
“I was in a fight,” I spat out.
A familiar spark returned to David’s eyes. His eyebrows raised, challenging me to say it. “Were you now?”
My brain continued to remind me that the last time I saw this mother fucker, he had shoved his dirty cock inside me.
I wanted to plunge my dinner knife into his jugular.
David pressed his hands on the table, shifting his body across Damian and closer to me. I didn’t shift away.
“Did you win?” David’s ominous question drifted across the void between us.
I sat still for a moment, deciding my response. David thought he could continue to tear me down, secretly. Little did he know, I didn’t give a fuck anymore.
“I might’ve,” I said, rising from the table and handing off my plate to my mother. “But the guy is a fucking pussy. A snake. He ran off before I could finish it.”
My mom gasped at my language and Damian frowned. David’s expression faltered.
“I thought you didn’t know the guy at the theater,” Damian asked, confused.
I shrugged and walked out of the room with a quick, “I’m going back upstairs.”
My gaze caught David’s, and I smirked, enjoying the way he fumed inwardly, but could say and do nothing in front of the others. I relished it—one of life’s simple pleasures.
A small victory against the Devil.