Chapter Twelve
Thump…thump…thump. My heart pounds as I sit on my bike across from the driveway, gazing at a house that feels unfamiliar.
Everywhere around me is swallowed by the night.
Through the open blinds, I watch a man and a woman in the living room, engaged in conversation.
They’re likely sharing stories about their day at work or chatting about their weekend plans.
I watch as the woman rests her head on his shoulder, radiating contentment.
He gently places his hand on her stomach, rubbing in small circles, and I realize with a squint that she has a small, round belly—she’s pregnant.
Just then, a young boy dashes into the living room, plopping down next to the man who I assume is his father.
The boy wraps his arms tightly around the man’s neck, and the man reciprocates with a squeeze.
They embody the ideal family that everyone dreams of being a part of.
There’s a persistent ache in my chest that I just can’t shake off.
Growing up, I struggled to feel my father’s affection; I can hardly remember a simple hug from him.
Instead, my memories are filled with his lectures, his yelling, and the many times he wasn’t around.
Some moments from my childhood seem fuzzy and dreamlike, almost like they’re slipping away from me.
It’s as if my mind is trying to shield certain parts of me from the traumas I faced as a kid.
My mom was always there, doing her best to fill the gaps in my childhood.
Meanwhile, my uncle Jesse, though often busy with work, made a genuine effort to be a positive male role model in my life whenever he could.
At times, it seemed he was caught in a tug-of-war between not wanting to overstep my father and trying to compensate for his younger brother’s mistakes.
Yet I still wonder what he truly knew about my father and the dynamics in our house.
For years, I’ve been trying to piece together the countless unanswered questions that lingered after the fire.
I crack my neck, trying to shake off the tension as I focus on the cheerful family in front of me and the house that feels so foreign.
Do they have any idea about the history beneath the very ground their home stands on?
Do they know that once, another family lived here, broken and scarred?
Then one fateful day, everything went up in flames, claiming two lives and leaving behind a teenager with his world reduced to ashes?
I clench my fist and press it against my anxious chest, feeling anger surge through my veins.
Staring at this home and the happy family inside only serves as a harsh reminder that the history here has been erased, built over, and forgotten.
I’m the only one who carries the weight of guilt and the sting of pain.
I never knew that loss could live deep inside your bones, like a starving ache that slowly eats away at your bone matter.
I’ve only learned to live with it and accept it as my punishment.
So deep in my thoughts, I hadn’t realized my heavy breathing and the fast beating of my heart.
Fuck, not right now. I press my fist hard into my chest, trying to steady my breathing.
In through your nose and breathe out through your mouth, Ezra.
My mom’s soothing words whisper through me.
I repeat her words to myself over and over.
I begin to feel slightly light-headed while a sudden flow of fear pokes at my nerves.
My hand grips where my heart panics beneath my chest cavity, while my left hand grips my right shoulder, my fingers digging into the tense muscle hidden under fabric.
“Hey! Can I help you?” A male voice sounds from my left.
I jerk my attention back to the house, seeing the man from inside walking across the yard toward me.
Shit. I throw my hand up, waving it in the air, before quickly turning my bike on.
I can’t imagine what’s running through his head: a random male sitting across from his house at nighttime.
I can only be thankful my helmet is on, hiding my identity.
Before he reaches the street, I speed off into the night.
My blurred vision worsens as I struggle to focus on the darkened streets ahead.
Panic surges through me, and in my haste, I forget to turn on my headlights.
My breathing grows heavy inside my bike helmet, thickening the air around me.
It feels like I’m trapped within a wall, gasping for air.
I weave down several roads, desperate to put as much distance as possible between myself and that house.
My vision starts to fade, and a tingling numbness creeps into my right arm.
Just ahead, I catch sight of a small patch of woods, and a flicker of relief sparks in my chest. I steer the bike into the grass by the trees, but as I try to park, I tumble off, letting the bike crash onto the ground beside me.
I scramble on all fours before yanking off my helmet and tossing it aside.
Sharp tingles race through my arms and hands as I lower my head between my arms. I grasp the grass beneath me, craving the feeling of the earth.
The cool, damp blades soothe my fingers as I work to regain control of my body.
I make an effort to focus on happy thoughts and memories that bring me a sense of safety and calm.
I envision my mom with her infectious smile and hear her warm voice in my mind.
I think of the twins and their irritating banter.
Then, I picture her—Raina. Gradually, my heart finds its rhythm, and I anchor my attention on that.
The tingling in my limbs starts to fade as I ground myself once more.
Finally, my breathing begins to slow. In through your nose and breathe out through your mouth, Ezra.
I roll onto my back, placing my palms over my chest as I gaze up at the sky where flickering stars are scattered like tiny diamonds.
The crescent moon shines brighter than ever.
I try to soak in the night’s stillness and the sounds of crickets and the whispers of the forest as exhaustion seeps into my bones.
With a flick of my wrist, I pull out my Zippo and a cigarette from my pocket.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep drag of the addictive smoke.
My eyelids grow heavy; it wouldn’t take much for me to drift off right here in this damned grass.
Those episodes drain every ounce of energy from me, proving just how weak I truly am.
I mask my pain every day, but it always finds a way to break me down.
And before I know it, I’m that scared little boy again, yearning for my mom’s reassurance to quiet the voices in my head.
But she’s long gone, leaving me to battle this constant fight-or-flight state of mind on my own.
My eyes glaze over as I take a long drag from my cigarette, watching the cherry glow a vibrant red, alive with intensity.
I lift my shirt, tracing my fingers along the scars I’ve etched into my skin over the years.
Slowly, I pull the cigarette from my lips and roll it between my fingers, not even glancing at it.
I guide it to my side, my fingertips gliding over the tender scarred surface.
With a gentle touch, I press the glowing cherry against my skin, a sharp hiss escaping my lips as I quickly pull it away, feeling a slight burn tingle through me.
I close my eyes for a brief moment, then open them again, refocusing on the dark sky above.
Again, I press the glowing tip of the lit cigarette against my side, savoring the familiar sting as I twist it back and forth, using my skin as an ashtray.
I keep at it until the cherry fizzles out completely.
After letting out a heavy sigh, I brush away the ash from the small burn and tug my shirt down to cover it.
I push myself up off the ground and search for my bike helmet, running my fingers through my hair to slick it back before putting it on.
Turning my gaze toward my bike, it dawns on me that I had accidentally laid it over.
My thoughts have been so scattered that I completely forgot it was still running.
I pick it back up, swinging my leg over the seat.
I tighten my grip on the handles, feeling the rubber under my callused palms. My head droops between my shoulders in defeat.
I can’t shake the feeling of foolishness for going there.
I had avoided it all these years, and even though I knew what the outcome would be, I still decided to leave the lake and go by there.
It was in the back of my mind the entire time at the lake.
The conversation Beck and I had didn’t help the situation, either.
The events of tonight have revealed exactly who I am—a human built of thin, cracked glass.
A fragmented window that’s ready to burst into flames from the inside out.
It proves me to be the very person I’ve tried so hard to conceal—a broken one.