Thankfully, he’s quiet and knows exactly where he’s going.
“Where’s Nico?” I ask to break the silence, as much as I find comfort in it. My mind is running at a thousand miles per hour, each thought giving me no time to dwell on them. Thiago’s hands tighten around the wheel, his knuckles protruding beneath the dainty gold bands around them. My eyes work their way up to his face, where his chiseled jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful. His body's reaction tells me, wherever Nico is, he knows, and I don’t want to know. Or at least don’t want to hear confirmation of it.
I swallow hard, and my hand balls into a fist, the same one I bring to my mouth. Guilt consumes me. I’m here, cradled by someone who at least cares—I might not like Safra, but I couldn’t bunch him with the rest. As much as I hate to admit it, there’s something that connects us.
My head slams into the window, my gaze on the moon that follows us through the dark roads that stretch before us. I feel hollow inside; it’s like I’m breathing but not really living. My best friend is back there, being used and god knows what else, and all I’m doing is chasing a feeling instead of doing something.
Anything.
I open my palms, resting them on my thighs. Looking down, I see the hard work in my calloused hands, see the pain and the helplessness. Anger quickly simmers before tipping to itshottest boil. The pressure becomes unbearable, and I slam my fist into the dashboard. You would think Thiago would get startled, but he doesn’t even flinch, just stares at the empty road, and continues to drive. Allowing me the release I so desperately craved without an ounce of judgment, and that has me staring at him.Wondering why?Why me? He could be anywhere? Doing anything, why be here?
“Thank you,” I mutter, allowing my body to sink into the leather seat. From the corner of his eye, he glances at me. His lips twitch into a tender but small smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes.
“No need, Ruas,” he replies softly, his voice a tender caress to my heart, soothing me so much it hurts. So many conflicting emotions run rampant inside me, and as the roads become bumpier, the street is littered with trash and graffiti. We arrived at Bajo Bay. And poverty is the first to welcome us.
Thiago slows down going over the large speed bumps and swerves, avoiding the massive potholes. It’s a shithole, still nostalgia embraces me tightly the deeper we get into the quiet streets, passing by the small park where Nico and I would spend hours playing soccer, just two small boys with a dream and a ball. Who would have known our dreams would become tainted by nightmares impossible to keep out?
Without a word, feeling the weight of Safra’s eyes, I point at the small, decrepit house with red paint peeling off the trim, the siding is missing, and no gutter—my personal hell. My heart quickens as Thiago slows down and enters the small driveway. I can feel my nerves grow restless, small bursts spread through me, making me jittery and unable to stop myself from shaking. I waste no time exiting the car, almost tripping as it rolls to a stop.
“Zayden, wait,” Thiago calls out, but I don’t bother.
Grabbing my keyring from inside my pocket, I open the door, and the smell of liquor, musk, and vomit assaults me. Fora second, I contemplate closing the door and turning away. However, the little boy inside me screams for me to move forward, to push past the negative memories I’m flooded with. My hand rests on the door frame before I creep inside. The weathered wooden floor groans as I move through the darkness, my hand brushing against the wall to find the light.
My eyes adjust to the brightness.
Everything looks just as I remember… even worse if I’m being honest. The beige walls are stained yellow from the amount of nicotine. There’s more liquor bottles than food containers littered across the floor. The odor of the house is enough to sour my stomach. I hate that Safra has to see this side of my life. The one I try to desperately keep away, I’m not ashamed of being poor, but this… It’s a vulnerability, and I’m so tired of being vulnerable.
“David!” I call out my father’s name as adrenaline begins to invade my body, blood rushing to my ears, heating them and making my stomach queasy when I spot the pile of vomit beside the couch. Something inside me nudges me to move towards the light creeping from his bedroom. I can hear Thiago step inside the house. I don’t have to turn around to know he’s taken aback; he didn’t even make it past the door before the pretty boy wants to go home.
The door closes, and the urge to look back has me locked in place.It’s okay…I remind myself.It’s okay.I wasn’t expecting him to stay… Still, the disappointment that grips me like a vice renders me a liar. I push past the negative cloud and continue to repeat,‘It’s okay,’ until my body catches up with my mind.
I don’t look back… I focus on moving forward, like I always do. Holding on to my pain because it’s mine to bear. Mine to hold.
The smell of urine mingles in the air, and my eyes roam through the piles of dirty laundry, empty beer cans, and even more liquor bottles, and the cigarette butts around the dresser.And I wish I could say that it’s the sight before me that has me speechless. But it’s the cologne that wraps around the stench like flame—pushing out the darkness and filling with light.
“Maybe he’s not here,” Thiago says from beside me as he leans into the door. I turn to look at him, my lips parting to speak. My heart flutters wildly within my chest when I spot the boots on the floor. Slowly, I inch closer until I’m turning the corner of his bed, and there he lies on his back, eyes wide and fixed.
My vision blurs, and maybe that’s why I can’t see any rise in his chest. He’s just sleeping. Too drunk… But I didn’t need to check to know that my father is dead. Suddenly, I’m a little kid again. A kid who only wanted the love of his father… For somebody to care…
“Da-” My voice breaks, and a rush of emotions floods through every cell in my body—locking me in place. “Pops,” I repeat, but it’s more like a pained groan that escapes my lips. My knees wobble, and the ground shifts below me, catching me off balance. I fall to my knees, feeling Thiago rush to my side. There’s no point rushing to a dead man.
Because that’s what he is.Dead.
His mouth opened, yellow foam spilling from the corner mixed with his vomit, his pants soiled, chest unmoving, and eyes glazed over. In his hands, a picture frame that makes my nails dig into the dirty carpet that smells of urine and smoke. The golden frame stands out in the shadows, and the picture inside is ofhercradling her swollen stomach. The only picture that withstood our anger and time, even though the image is a little fuzzy. I feel something warm run down my cheek, and Thiago's thumb brushes it away as quickly as it falls.
I don’t know when it happens, but I break.
And there Safra is, catching me right into his fucking arms. My hands are fists on his shirt; I should be embarrassed.What am I doing? Why am I crying?But the tears keep coming out, eachsob working its way violently through my body until the dam overflows and my grief spills out of me in torrential waves that crash into him.
“I got you, Ruas,” he whispers over and over, until his warmth leaves me. “Te peguei…”2
The coldness of the room, of my life, swallows me again. Once again, I feel like a little kid wishing for his dad to get better—for me. The reality of it has me sobbing into my hands. Pressing my palms into my eyes until all I can see is darkness. A wail rips through me, my heart ripping from inside my chest. I don’t know what hurts me—that he’s dead or the fact that I care so much.
Or maybe it’s the heaviness that lifts knowing that he’s gone. Despite it all, it’s a hard pill to swallow. That even though he was a piece of shit to me, it still fucking hurts. I just wanted a dad, and once again, he robbed me of it. I let my arms fall to my side, and through my tears, I can see Thiago looking for a pulse, looking for a lie. Maybe a dream he can sell to me. He shakes his head and confirms what I already knew.
A low chuckle slips past my lips as I look at the man who showed me nothing but neglect, anger, and pain. Still, I cry for him, for the father I could’ve had, for the one I never got, and for the one I will never have.How pathetic could I be?Maybe Pops was right all along. I am too unlovable for anyone to want to stay. Maybe that’s why Nico is even putting himself in the crossfire…Does he want to leave me, too?
Slowly, the tides turn, and the overwhelming and oppressive pain shifts to indifference. To nothing, like the empty body lying on the ground. Sure, his body is no longer alive now, but the truth is, he’s been dead for a very long time.