Supernovas & Escapism

Chapter Fifteen

      Light from the television had lit up the downstairs. The muted sound of some reran sitcom greeted me as I walked through the door. I didn't even need to look down at my phone to understand that it was late. The darkness of the streets slithered in and made itself comfortable in our front room. With utmost care, I tried to close the front door without leaving any trace that I had come in.

     When the click of the latch reached my ears, a sharp breath drew in. Motionless, I bided my time before making my way through the darkened house.

     But when I turned to head towards the stairs, I saw a daunting figure standing in the doorway to the living-room. A slow exhale followed, with me just wondering how much trouble I could have landed myself in. Maybe if I made a break for it, he wouldn't be able to catch me. Even as the thought grazed my mind, I knew how stupid it was.

     "Xavier," my dad spoke in such a hoarse and stern tone. I couldn't make out features in this light, but could only assume that he was pissed as all hell. Truly he had every right to be. but the way he held his voice so subtle and quiet let me know that he was not about to lose it, at least not yet. "Where the hell have you been?" It wasn't worded as a question so much as it was worded as an accusation. This was how he spoke to me now; with this voice that always made it feel like I'd robbed a bank.

     I stood in silence, hoping for the power to just not exist in this moment.

     "Talk," he demanded, arms folding across his chest tightly. His pose stiffened, and suddenly it looked like he was occupying the empty space that existed between the pair of us.

     Finally, after a moment or so, I pushed off the door and moved across the hallway to the stairs. My steps were so final, so determined that it truly did feel for a moment like nothing could stop me. Maybe, if I'd kept pace, I might have made it up the steps and too my room.

     But instead, my dad moved to the steps, blocking my path. His face, whilst still obscured by darkness, showed the traces of anger. But it was strange in the way he showed it. His entire face was a mask, trying to pretend to be one emotion without truly knowing how to feel. The emotion felt so new, and so raw to him that he wasn't sure how to move his face just yet. It felt like we were playing a game of chicken between ourselves, just to find out who would back down first.

     Of course, if there's one thing the Sutton men are known for its their pride; a distinct inability to back down.

     My dad was a wall, and I was a wrecking ball. One of us would have to give way to allow the other to live. Maybe he didn't understand that right now, but I could hardly waste time like this; our tenuous relationship growing even more toxic with every second that passed.

     "Out," I finally muttered under my breath, realizing very quickly that this was not an answer that he wanted to hear. I might not have been able to see him, but I could hear the temperamental flare of his nostrils as his posture stood more rigid.

     In a swift movement, I tried to move to one side, trying to take advantage of a blind spot as I scaled the steps. For a moment, it looked like it had worked, as I crossed around him, more conviction in moving forward. That is, until a very stern hand grasped my shoulder. It wasn't a grab that screamed 'I'm not done' or a placement that said 'wait, please talk to me.' More than anything it felt like a 'we need to talk.' Like one of those grasps that makes you halt in your steps because you're not sure if you should continue forward or look back.

     I decided to stop in my tracks, but remained face forward.

     "I just needed some air," I spoke, my hand grabbing the stair railing as my head bowed down. There was a warmth that bubbled slowly in my stomach. It was the same feeling that came with anytime me and my father were ever in the same room for too long. It was a deep pang that felt like an abort button, wanting to be pressed. "I needed to get out of the house."

     My father was motionless for a second, silence falling between us. "Listen Xavier," he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "I get that you're trying to work some stuff out for yourself, but you need to understand that I can't just let you do what you want."

     "Why not?" I shot back, "Mom would have."

     His grip on my shoulder tightened for a moment, before becoming limp and dropping by his side. I didn't want to look at him. I didn't need to see the hurt I'd caused him. I didn't want to fuel this emptiness inside me with more emotions. The isolating feeling that existed where my heart should have been would have loved this. It would have lapped it up as if it were warm milk.

     "Your mom's gone kid." He said these words like they had never been spoken before, as if they would do something to tear me away from the path that I was headed down. I understood why he had said it. He wanted things to be okay. He probably wished that things would settle back down, but nothing was ever going to be the same. My heart was still in a constant state of turmoil. To say I was going to be fine would have been a lie.

     "I know."

     The words were caught in my throat, coming out as a strangled silence. I wanted to cry, but I'm not sure if I could remember how too, at least in front of him.

     Instead, I ascended the steps, much slower this time. Dad remained down at the bottom of the steps, looking up at me as I turned the corner into my room. It was only when I heard the gentle creaking of him going down the last few steps that I had decided to close the door.

     My back rested against the hard wood, sliding down inch by inch with every second that passed. Everything felt fuzzy; like it had been put through some sort of obnoxious Instagram filter. None of my thoughts made sense, and none of the things I wanted to feel would come to the surface. It felt like I was underwater, like I was drowning on nothing but air. And then I started to wonder if such a thing was possible.

     Finally slumping onto the floor, I pulled out my phone.

     I'd done nothing but go over what had happened tonight in my head repeatedly. Garth was someone who carried this presence with him. He knew who he was, and was not ashamed of it. But if that were really true, then why had he kissed me? Why had he turned away in fear of what I might have done? Why couldn't I get our conversations out of my head?

     Unlocking the phone, I quickly opened YouTube, one word ingrained so deeply into my head; Soundgarden.

     And so, clicking on the first link that I could find, I let the words carry me off into some sort of semi-slumber. Words of a 'Black Hole Sun,' and how the singer just wished it would come and take away everything bad.

     If only things like that existed; things that could wash away the rain.