chapter twenty-three.
just like i was.

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I didn't want to go home that night, but the hospital staff basically forced me to.

"I'm sorry," Nathan had told me as we were riding the hospital elevator down several floors. "I wish you could stay. We won't be going home tonight, otherwise I'd let you come to our house and spend the night."

I wished I had even an ounce of the strength Nathan had. Although he and I sobbed together in the bathroom, eventually he dried his tears and hoisted me off the ground, telling me that it would be okay.

"It's fine," I choked out. "I wouldn't be able to handle seeing his room anyway." I imagined entering that bedroom Edwin and Nathan shared, seeing my boyfriend's unmade bed, an empty cup still on his nightstand, dirty clothes in his hamper. It would make it feel like he was still alive, which would only hurt more in the end.

As Nathan and I walked out of the hospital doors, I immediately felt the urge to be alone.

"I can take the bus home," I said to him. "I don't want to keep you from your family right now."

"It's not a problem, I promise."

I shook my head. "I know, but I just need to be alone right now. You've done so much for me already, please let me help you. Stay here with your parents, they need you."

The man stared at me for a few moments before eventually giving in. "Okay. Give me a call if you need anything, alright? Anything, Kyran, and I will be there for you."

Fresh tears began to well up in my eyes. I blinked them away, nodding again. "Thank you."

"Of course," he reached out and engulfed me in his arms, holding me tight against his body for a few moments before letting go. He dug in his pocket and brought out his wallet, presenting me with a couple of dollars. "For the bus."

"No, I have my own money—"

"Please, take it."

I took the cash from his outreached hand and shoved the bills into my own pocket. "I'll see you soon." I said, rubbing one of my eyes.

Nathan reached out and ruffled my hair, a sad smile upon his face. "See you."

We parted ways, both of us on our way to face our own parents, and for a moment I realized just how similar Nathan and I really were.

🌌

As I was on the bus home, I knew my time was up. My luck had run completely out, leaving me to deal with the harsh reality I didn't want to face. God, I didn't want to face it. I really didn't. My stomach churned and my head felt heavy and I felt like I could barely breathe. But I moved my feet forward down the sidewalk from the bus stop, each step feeling like I was walking through wet cement, and I tried to calm my shuddering and weakening breath.

It was nearing eight pm now, and it had begun to rain. Lightly, but enough to make my jeans feel uncomfortable as the fabric rubbed against my skin, for my shoes to feel soggy and gross. I didn't pay much mind to it, instead reveling in the water that fell from the sky. Appreciating it, watching as the droplets splashed onto my arm, leaving dots that could easily be wiped away. I noticed as the rain picked up, and I looked as it harshly dropped, being revealed from the lamp posts that lit up the dark. I took in the scent of wet earth, I looked up at the black sky with grey storm clouds painted across it. I listened to the steady rain hitting the ground, to the thunder every minute or so, and to the dogs barking from somewhere far off. Cars honked, drove by quickly down the neighborhood road, and I envied the passengers inside.

I envied the people inside the houses I passed, living their perfectly normal lives with their perfect families. Parents who weren't fucked up, kids who didn't feel scared in their own homes. Kids who felt comfortable in their own skin, and didn't feel ashamed for breathing the wrong way or thinking the wrong way. Kids who could just be.

I guessed some of us just weren't that lucky.

I walked slowly, taking in everything around me as much as I could. Because I knew after that night, that very next hour, things would never be the same. But the harshest part to understand was that the world would go on, no matter what happened to me. No one would care. Not anymore.

Edwin was dead. He was the only one who truly cared about me. The only one who I knew wouldn't want anything bad to happen to me, the one who wanted me safe. I wanted the same for him. But I couldn't protect him. No matter how much I wished I could save him, in the end my hopes and pleads didn't matter, because he closed his eyes and breathed his last breath right in front of me, leaving me all alone.

Alone to face the reality, to remember that there was no way to save me either.

I walked up the mushy grass of my front lawn, light pouring through the window in our front living room, turning my skin orange in the light. Two cars were parked in the driveway, silent yet holding so much noise and power.

My hands shook as I twisted the doorknob, pushed the front door open, and took a step inside. My wet shoes left water on the floor, but it wouldn't matter. I closed the door, took a deep breath, and turned around. Angry voices came from the kitchen, light flooded down the hallway, and my shoes squeaked against the wooden floor as I walked down it. I was so scared. So scared. I wanted to run away. I wanted to hide. I couldn't do it, I really, really couldn't—

"I thought I told you to stop hanging out with that little bastard!"

My dad screamed, his voice laced with the most venomous sound that I never knew it could carry. I stood in the threshold between the kitchen and the hallway, taking deep breaths while staring down at my soaked shoes.

"We warned you so many times," he continued. His voice made me jump, noticeably, too, and he seemed livid. "you're really fucking dead this time, you fucking fag. You're really dead."

They didn't want to talk—they just wanted me to pay. The two wanted to take out all of their anger over me onto me. And I let them. Holy shit I let them. I didn't fight the death grip that my dad held onto my arm, I didn't try to escape as he dragged me across the house, my mom following and spitting words at her husband that I couldn't understand with my mind so jumbled and panicked.

I didn't understand what was going on until I was pushed into the downstairs bathroom, the back of my head hitting the wall with a thud, and I saw my dad turn two silver knobs, hot water beginning to rush into the milky white tub.

I felt tears begin to run down my cheeks. Not this way, please. Five years ago I thought I had seen the end of it, but apparently not. Yet I know that would be the very last time.

My mother's nails dug into my flesh, close to drawing blood. She yelled at my dad, but he ignored her and that time I tried to break free because it seemed to have just dawned on me that I don't want this and I want to live, I want to breathe and I want to run. I want to be. I didn't want it to end like that, I didn't.

But I knew I couldn't escape. No matter what I did or how much I believed I could, it was inevitable. The scariest part was that I knew there was no other way to go except for that direction. Nothing could be done. Nothing. So I cried and cried, because the ending would be the same no matter what I did. And I couldn't stop the tears flowing down my cheeks, so why try?

"Come here," my dad pulled me by the neck and I didn't take a deep breath—it wouldn't do me any good—before he pushed my head into the much too hot water. My knees hit the floor, my arms clutched the sides of the tub, my dad's palm was pressing me down, and my skin felt like it was on fire. My lungs began to feel the same as the seconds ticked by.

It was dumb for me to think it'll all be over soon, you'll be okay as I had thought so many years ago before. Because then I knew that it'll be over soon, but you won't be okay.

My hands slipped off the edge of the tub, too weak to hold myself up. Black dots clouded my vision, and I screamed and cried into the water. My eyes burned, my lungs burned, and my heart hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. My dad, my caregiver, killing me, his own son. Murdering me for his own fucking entertainment, for his own pleasure—without a single care for the consequences. Without a care about the life I had ahead of me. And that was what hurt the most as I closed my eyes, my mouth closed, and I felt my entire body go weak.

It had been nearly five minutes, and my time was up.

The last thing I thought of was Edwin—the most precious light in the life I lived. A picture flickered through my mind, back to the day I first ever saw him; ruffled bleached hair, dirtied converse, a gloomy look in his dark eyes hidden underneath circular glasses.

I remembered his honey, smooth voice telling me months later, "I love you." I remembered the way it felt as he pressed his lips against mine, and for such short and sweet moments before we were ripped apart like always.

I remembered clutching onto his hand as he stared at me weakly, a smile playing on his lips. His hold had faltered and he closed his eyes, disappearing forever.

Just like I was.

Everything gently faded to black, with that same honey voice ringing through my mind, saying things I knew I'd never hear again.

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