“Z, I need to call someone,” Thiago murmurs, his two fingers sliding down my father’s lids, closing his eyes. I can’t help the scoff that escapes me, the look of disdain I offer to my father.
“You shouldn’t care,” I say, referring to the act of kindness he’s offering. He didn’t deserve it. Safra opens his mouth to speak, and I brace myself, waiting for a snarky response. Nothing comes. I inhale deeply, watching Thiago’s eyebrows furrow, and his hand darts out to grab the golden picture frame.
A question forms in his mind, evidenced by the puzzled look on his face.
I wonder why?
Does it shock him to see my mother? I look just like her, and just when I open my mouth to speak. Thiago looks up at me, his hand shaking, and something in his eyes confuses me. I can’t decipher the look on his face. “Is this your mom?”
I nod, wiping my tears.
Thiago goes still, all the color drains from his face as his fingers tremble around the frame.
“Zayden,” he whispers, but whatever he’s about to say doesn't come out.
Safra just sits back, resting his head on the wall. Once again, I find my mouth opening to speak, only to quickly slam it shut. Unsure of what to say as Safra looks like I just punched him in the gut. His focus is wrestling between the picture and me. This goes on for a while, silence settling between us before he pulls out his phone and calls for help. His voice is calm as he gives the information and alerts authorities that there’s no emergency. There's no need for paramedics, so he asks for someone who can pick up the body. By the time he’s off the phone, I’m no longer on my knees, just sitting in the very spot I would sit as a kid.
Watching as he breathed, making sure he never overdosed, and if he did, I would run to the black bag that contained the medicine that made him better. Never the cops, that was the only clear instruction. The memory invokes a feeling I’ve forgotten, because it was like a second skin.Alone. The fear of being all alone in this world had me become his babysitter. Ichuckle, a tear slipping past my cupid’s bow. How silly I was when I was still innocent. A boy who longed for love and a parent. Only to receive none.
Not a mom.
Not a dad.
Most certainly not love.
The irony is, I start to laugh because it’s better than crying. Thiago inches closer just as I crawl towards the man I hate… The man I fucking love and the man who broke me long before Villalargos did. I rise to my feet and spit on his face. Anger and resentment are all I cling to, because that’s how I survived him. His abuse. His punches.
“I FUCKING HATE YOU!” I shout, “I FUCKING HATE YOU!”
“Ruas.” Thiago’s hand shoots to my shoulder, but I shove him off. Before I can stop my leg from moving, I swing back and kick full force forward. His corpse moves slightly when I land another blow, Thiago quickly intercepting.
“Hey… hey…” He breathes out the words, like a prayer soothing my splitting soul. The anger begins to leave my body with each exhale, and before I know it, I sink into Safra, but not before giving my father more parting words.
“Look at you, dead, fucking dead. Good fucking riddance,” I bite out, my shoulders sagging and my body melting into Thiago. His arms wrap around me so tight as if he could shove himself inside. “I hate him.”
“You should let it all out.”
A pained groan escapes my lips, followed by more curses, “Fuck you, David.”
With that, I storm out of his room and into the living room. Pacing in circles as my fingers thread into my hair. I pull at the strands, my shoulders shaking with each breath. The air feels too thin… too thick… and soon, too suffocating when Thiago stepsinto it. He’s only a few steps behind me, but he might as well be beside me.
“Zayden…”
I turn around to face him, my eyes wide and burning with pressure that gathers within them. I must look as mad as I feel, given the look on Safra’s face. His hand moves to console me, only to be slapped away by mine.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I snarl, nose flaring as I walk towards him. He takes two cautious steps back, and I can’t help but enjoy what I’m seeing. This is my turf… My game, and for the first time…. He’s in my domain.
I back him into the wall, my hand wrapping around his throat. I don’t know whether I want to beat him or fuck him. All I know is that I slam him into the wall, hard enough to rattle the door and for pictureless frames to fall to the ground. Thiago’s breath catches, his pulse racing beneath my touch, and yet, he doesn’t fight back. He doesn’t even lift a hand. I cock my fist back, letting it hover in the air like a threat. His eyes are glassy and full of challenge. And all that keeps running through my mind is why…
“WHY—” I ask, hating the way my voice cracks when I scream the word at him. He barely swallows, his gaze locked on mine. “WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?”
Thiago's chest rises with his inhale; it’s slow and steady. “Because you shouldn’t be alone right now.”
My grip tightens, nails digging into his soft flesh, but still, he doesn’t give. My jaw clenches, teeth grinding together as I hold back the urge to squeeze the life out of him.
“You don’t get to say that…” I spit, but there’s no real bite behind my words. “You don’t get to be here for me. Not after—” I can’t bring myself to finish my words. I let them die within the cemetery of everything I’ve ever longed to say. Thiago swallows hard, his Adam's apple pressing against the palm of my hand.
Breathing becomes a chore, one impossible to fulfill when you’re past exhaustion. I’m fucking tired. So tired… and then he speaks and undoes every lock I’ve put in place to keep him out. “Just let me be here for you. Let me in, Ruas.”