The silence that hung between you and your father was deafening. No one wanted to say a word and yet there was so much that needed to be said.

Frustration tied your throat. He didn't even have the guts to look at you. Almost on their own your fingers scratched along the wooden handle of the rifle.

Breaths echoed in your ears, heavy yet calm. A little rattling could be heard.

"You wanted to discuss something.", it slipped off your tongue.

A hint of impatience could be heard. And you hated it. It made you feel like an impatient child, that was about to complain, demand.

A deep breath made your father's chest quiver. It was such a heavy, heartbreaking sound that the guilt became unbearable within seconds.

Guilt. It always had to be guilt.

"Every time you're emotional you sound just like her.", melancholy echoed in his words as a smile lit his face, made his eyes shine with memories.

Your stomach twisted and turned. The urge to throw up right on your boots. All of a sudden you felt dirty again even though the wash in the pond was barely thirty minutes ago.

"She's gone. You should stop talking about her.", that was all you managed to say out loud.

His face twisted and anger crossed his old eyes.

"That's just cruel to demand.", he said. "Cruel towards your mother's legacy."

"I'm my mother's legacy!", it blurted out without hesitation. "She won't come back. I am all that's left of her!"

"And it's not enough!", struck by the sudden honesty that had lingered below the surface for many years now you couldn't help but freeze.

Again, silence spread. But this time it was worse. Crueler. Just like the shimmer that filled his eyes.

You just stared at him. He just stared at you.

And just like that the two of you were thrown back to the day it had only been you and your dad for the rest of your lives.

Right to that day she had died.

Tears burned in the corner of your eyes but you refused to cry in front of him. Sorrow turned to anger. And the anger boiled up so quickly that you were about to jump at him.

Breathing heavily, he had to swallow. His eyes fell shut.

"We should go home.", his voice trembled, almost broke with every word he said.

A cold shiver crawled down your back.

"We don't have a home.", your hands clenched into fists.

"We left a home, (Y/N)."

"It died. Together with her."

A sigh made his chest tremble. Dark eyes found your face to examine the expression on it. But there was nothing to be found. All you did was stare at him with empty eyes.

He was talking absolute bullshit. Whatever he had planned it was dumb, trying to chase a past that would never return.

You did not want to go back to a house that had traumatised you to your core.

"Your mother would want us around.", he insisted, teeth clenched.

"She's dead. She's fucking dead for years now!"

"But the house isn't. Our home..."

All of a sudden a lightning bolt chased through your limbs. You jumped off the ground to your feet, your face distorted with rage and fear as you looked down on him.

"I'd rather die than go back there.", you grabbed the rifle and one of the backpacks. "I'd rather be bitten!"

He was up on his feet quicker than you had expected him to be able to. Without warning fingers wrapped around your neck, weight pushed you up against the wall.

His face was so close that it made you stop breathing. Teeth gritted your father looked at you. His grip on your throat tightened.

You managed to slide your hand into your back pocket and pull out a small knife. The blade trembled in your grip. You hesitated.

"You'd attack me?", he asked with a glance at the shiny metal. "After you already killed your mother you'd kill me too?"

Blood turned to ice in your veins. Vomit scratched at the back of your throat, mingled with the darkest memories you could imagine.

Now you couldn't help but feel the warmth of tears that ran down your cheeks. But you did not whimper or cry out loud.

The anger was silent. Cold.

"You killed her.", you replied in a breathless voice. "She died by your hands."

His grip on you flattered.

"I had to. She begged me to.", that was the first bit of honesty he granted you since her death.

Never before had he spoken about what had happened. How it had happened. All you knew was that it had happened.

And it made you sick to your stomach to that day. Whenever you looked at him you didn't know if you were supposed to feel guilty or hate him for what had needed to be done.

Your breath hitched in your throat. Eyes fell shut, pushed him out of your life, embraced the dark.

"I won't go back. Never.", you said, calm but determined.

It was the truth. You'd rather live under the stars for the rest of your life than return under a roof that had killed something inside of you many years ago.

His eyes twitched. But he did let go.

The tension between the two of you was so thick that you could have cut it with your knife. But instead there was this urge in you to cut his face.

You wouldn't. But maybe that would have been more satisfying.

Pushing him off, you adjusted the backpack and rifle and rushed out the door without a single word left to say.

Again, guilt tied your throat for abandoning him. And yet it felt like a kind of weight was lifted off your shoulders.

Irritated, you chased down the hallway, almost got lost in the dark, as Ellie's face caught your attention. She leaned against a corner, arms crossed.

One glance was enough and she sneed to understand that this was not a good time to ask question.

"Let's go.", you whispered and wiped your tears with the back of your hand. "I gotta get out of here."