All American Boys

Chapter 26: A True Love of Mine

Isaac walked me down the stairs, through the hallway until we reached the front door. I could hear the buzzing of a hand phone coming from the next room.

The young man unlocked the door, holding it open for me. He wanted me to leave.

"So this is it then?" I said as I stood halfway through the open door, trying to stall.

"Yeah," Isaac shrugged. "I guess."

"Cool," I said. "So you're just going to throw everything away like that?"

Isaac said nothing, avoiding my gaze.

I heard a notification buzz coming from the living room. Any time now.

"I can't believe after everything we've been through," I said, still trying to buy time. "That we're just gonna end things like this."

The young man's lips parted, as if he wanted to say something, but he never said it. Even if he did, he couldn't. Not with what happened next.

"Isaac!" Richard's voice boomed from the living room.

The poor boy's face turned pale, the blood rushing out of his cheeks. He tried to push me out of the door but I stood my ground, clawing my way back inside.

The older man was fuming, walking up to the two of us with rage. There was something animalistic in his eyes, his glare looking like it could burn holes into Isaac's soft skin. Any minute now.

"How dare you," he said, his voice low and deep. "How dare you, Isaac!"

He didn't seem to care that I was there right in front of him. When Richard cared not for appearances anymore, that's when you know you've really gotten to him. Really shook him to the very core.

"D-Dad," the young man said, raising up his hands slightly in front of his chest. "What's wrong? What did I do?"

"What did you do?" the older man hissed. "You dare ask me that? When you were out there making out with boys in the locker room?"

The young man just looked at him in horror, his eyes widening. Green, teary eyes full of fear.

"I didn't spend eighteen years of my life raising a faggot!" Richard shouted, his fists clenched as he walked up to his son. "I didn't spend all these years only to have one of my sons cut all ties with me and the other a bloody queer. How can you be so selfish Isaac? How could you?"

Isaac was backed into a wall his hands in front of him to protect himself. It was only a matter of time before the anger got too much for him. I could've intervened but what was I supposed to do?

"Dad!" the young man pleaded as he shielded himself with his arms. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

Richard brought his hand back, as if he was about to slap the poor boy. It was then when I decided that I couldn't bear watching this scene unfold any longer. In a split second, I gathered up all my strength and tensed up my fist.

"Stop it!" I shouted. "That's enough."

I was shaking, but I tried my best to hold my ground. I couldn't let him see that I was scared. I couldn't let him win. I didn't expect him to get so violent.

Richard stopped and turned around. He was trembling, his chest rising up and falling back down again. Seizing his chance, Isaac slipped away from behind him, scurrying up to me.

But Richard said nothing, merely staring at me from where he stood, rooted to the spot. He really let his anger and rage get the better of him this time. You'd think that someone who was recently diagnosed with a heart condition, he'd do more to keep his blood pressure and the strain on his heart to the minimum. But I suppose old habits died hard.

He couldn't speak. Instead, what came out was a raspy wheeze as his shoulders fell up and down. It seemed like he was trying to speak, but he couldn't. With Isaac safe behind me, I couldn't help but flash Richard a slight smirk – even if it was just for a brief second. He clutched his hand to his chest, grabbing onto his shirt. The anger and rage that were in those eyes seemed to be replaced with horror – the sheer realisation of what was happening to him. The very same fear that was in poor Isaac's eyes when he anticipated his father beating him.

With another few loud pants and wheezes, his legs buckled, and he fell onto his knees, facing the two of us. His eyes looked at Isaac, desperate, pleading for help. Pleading for anything that could save him.

And Isaac, like the sweet innocent boy that he was, rushed to his father. Lunging forward, he caught the older man before he hit the ground.

"D-Dad!" Isaac called out, panicking. "Dad, what's happening?"

I only stood there, clasping my hands together, pretending to be shocked. I've rehearsed this scenario in my head so many times, it all came so fluidly to me. Isaac shook his father, before looking up at me with tearful eyes.

"Alex," he said. "W-What do I do?"

"Okay calm down," I said as I approached him. "Just stay there, alright. I'll call the ambulance."

"Thanks," was all that he could mutter, before he went back to shaking his father's weakening body.

I took out my phone and walked into the next room.

"Hi, I'm calling to report a heart attack, we need help right away," I said into the phone.

I made it a point to speak loudly, so that Isaac could hear me.

"We're at 40 Damascus Street," I added. "Please, hurry!"

I put my phone back in my pocket and returned to Isaac's side.

The young man was holding onto his father's palms now as the older man's breathing got even louder and raspier. He was shaking, but I couldn't tell whether it was him or his son's trembling.

"You hear that dad?" Isaac said, his voice choking back on tears. "The ambulance is coming. You're going to be okay."

I never dialled the number.

"We're going to get you to the hospital alright?" Isaac added, his voice breaking.

The ambulance wasn't coming.

"They're going to save you," the young man said, his voice trailing off.

No one's going to.

I stood there, watching the scene in front of my eyes: Isaac holding on to his dying father. A few moments earlier he was pleading for him not to hit him, yet now he was pleading for him not to die. It was for his own good. It wasn't my fault that he couldn't see how badly his father was treating him. It wasn't my fault that he refused to believe that his father was an abuser. It wasn't my fault that he was delusional enough to believe that his father actually loved him.

If he had just left with Hayden, then none of this would've happened. But he refused. He still kept trying to protect his father, he still kept on choosing to stay blind.

There was a thin line between innocence and stupidity, and Isaac had crossed that line. It was my job to protect him and do what's best for him. He would keep on protecting his father, and I knew he would up to the day that abuser died. So I thought I might as well get rid of him.

Besides, after all he's done, I wouldn't bat an eye doing so. He was the right hand of the mayor that killed my sister. He's ruined so many lives. I wouldn't mind him gone.

In fact, I enjoyed watching him die. His raspy, rattling breaths sounded like music to my ears. It was wonderful. A little tragic, but wonderful.

If he had stayed alive, Isaac would've been treated like trash still. And with Richard's violent behaviour, the poor boy might even get himself killed.

I was doing this in everyone's best interests. It was for the best.

My heart thumped in my chest as I watched the older man drift in and out of consciousness. Doubts began to come up to me, in the form of persistent whispers. Did I really want to do this? Was this what I really wanted? Was I a murderer?

It wasn't too late. I could just go outside and make another call. It was going to take all but a few seconds, thirty at most. A few precious seconds which could save his life.

But then I remembered what happened. There was no turning back. Once I told Aaron to send that video of Isaac and I making out in the locker room, I had sealed Richard's fate. There was no way I could let him get out of this alive.

I couldn't imagine what he'd do to Isaac if he lived. When he knew about the poor boy's sexuality.

I'm sorry for the few seconds of fear Isaac had to go through before his father collapsed, but it had to be done. Between another lifetime of suffering and just a few seconds, I'd rather he go through the latter option.

"Where's the ambulance?" Isaac called out, his voice panicking. "Oh my God, where are they?"

Richard wasn't moving anymore. His red eyes were staring blankly, looking at nothing in particular.

The wheezing had stopped, leaving an uncomfortable silence in the air.

"No, no, no!" Isaac yelled, tears falling down his reddened cheeks. "No, you have to wake up, dad! Please don't leave me, please!"

I too was speechless. Shocked.

He was dead. Richard Anderson was no longer with us in this world. I didn't know what to feel. Was I to be relieved? That the abuser of the boy I loved and one of my sister's murderers was finally dead? Was this justice?

Or did I just murder a man in cold blood? Did I just rip away a father from a son who just hoped that one day his father would love and accept him? Have I just taken away that opportunity forever?

Isaac gripped onto the man's shoulders, sniffing and crying.

"Dad!" he wept, tears and mucus flowing down his cheeks. "Wake up! Please!"

The man lay limp in the arms of the crying boy. I admit it, it hurt to watch. A part of me wanted to cry, wanted to beg him for forgiveness for what I've done. To know that I'm the one that caused all this pain hurt me.

But at the same time, it was for his own good. I tried to convince myself that I did the right thing. That it was all worth it.

Richard was a horrible man, but was what I did any better?

"I'm going to see if they're on the way," I told him, gently tapping the boy's shoulder.

Isaac only nodded in reply, wiping away his tears with his sleeve.

"I won't be long okay," I said as I opened the door.

Closing the door behind me, I took a dep breath. My hands were trembling.

I killed someone. I took a living, breathing life away. I took someone's father away.

A part of me told me that I wasn't directly responsible, that all I did was not call the ambulance on time. That I didn't directly kill him. That I wasn't the one that snatched him away. His blood wasn't on my hands.

I picked up my phone and dialled the emergency services – for real this time.

"911 what's your emergency?"

"My friend's dad. . . He's had a heart attack and he's not responsive," I blurted out.

"Alright sir, where is he located?"

"40 Damascus Street," I answered.

"We'll be on the way," the operator replied.

I was about to hang up, but the words just slipped out of my lips. Maybe it was my guilt.

"Please hurry," I pleaded. "I don't think he has much time."

The call ended and I went back inside. Isaac was still by his father's side. He was still crying, his tears now wetting his father's crisp shirt, forming dark, flowering blooms in the fabric.

The paramedics arrived soon after. They had to pry the body from Isaac's arms. He just didn't want to let go.

"Isaac, they're here to help," I assured him as I pulled him away.

The young man collapsed in my arms as the medical team put him on a stretcher.

"He's gone Alex!" he sobbed, wetting my shoulder with his tears. "He's gone."

"We don't know that," I tried to reassure him, holding him tightly. "They'll get him to the hospital, and he's going to be fine."

The poor boy only shook his head as he continued to cry. He had trouble standing up, and I had to pull him up to his feet.

"You should go with him," I said, pointing at the ambulance. "I'll catch up later."

Isaac seemed like he was in a daze, but he just nodded and climbed up into the back of the ambulance.

As the ambulance drove off, I only stood there by the sidewalk, watching the red and blue flashing lights disappear. Eventually I returned inside, heading straight to the bathroom. I turned on the tap and splashed some of the cold water onto my cheeks.

I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. My hair was still the way I had left it, but my shirt was slightly crumpled from where Isaac had clutched onto me.

Was it worth it? I asked myself. I put that poor boy through hell. I'd never forget those tearful green eyes, full of anguish. Full of hopelessness, knowing that there was nothing he could do as his father slipped away in front of him.

I helped lock up, using the keys I found on the kitchen counter. With a heavy heart, I drove to the hospital.

Isaac was waiting for me in the lobby of Accidents and Emergency. The poor boy was slumped in one of the seats. Rushing up to him, I sat down on the seat beside him.

"He's gone, Alex," he mumbled, his voice soft and weak. "Dad's gone."

I wrapped my arms around him as he rested his head on my shoulder. He felt light in my embrace as I squeezed him against my chest. I patted his back, trying to give him what little comfort I could. He closed his eyes as I held him, his sobs interrupted by the occasional hiccup.

"It's going to be okay Isaac," I told him as I stroked his silky hair. "I'm here for you."

But as those words left my lips, I immediately felt a creeping wave of guilt wash over my heart. As much as I didn't want to admit it, and as much as I told myself otherwise, deep inside I knew it was all on me. It was all my fault.

As I held the weeping boy, mourning the death of a father whom he wanted to be loved by, I couldn't help but think to myself.

Dear God, what have I done?