Dreaming About Him Ever Since

Chapter 32

He didn't move. He didn't wrap his arms around me and beam with happiness. 

No, he didn't move. 

I pull away, my mood completely dampened. 

"What's wrong?" I ask, confused.

"What do you remember?" He asks, his breathing irregular. 

"Everything," I mumble. 

"Everything?"

"Everything."

He was breathing heavier now and it appeared that it was becoming hard to breathe through his nose. 

"Josh? Joshua." I touched his arm, worry on my face but a mix of dread and anger on his. He ripped his arm from me. "Josh," I say, calmly. "I need you to get this air balloon higher or we're going to crash or land or both so please," I say, calmly, trying not to freak out myself. "Calm down, we'll discuss this on the ground." What was wrong with him?

I can't believe you are turning 16, Arvada!" Mum squealed from the front seat.

I chuckled and replied with, "You have been saying that for the past 12 months, mum." It was dad's turn to laugh.

He turned around for a second from driving. "She has hasn't she?!" My dad practically yelled from the driver's seat.

"Simon, keep your eyes on the road please," My mum said to my father sweetly.

"Yes, honey," My dad replied with a roll of his eyes. I laughed at my parents.

It's been 16 years and I still look nothing like either of my parents. I don't have the strong build and intelligence from my father or the beauty and talent from my mother. Instead, I was this uncoordinated, book-loving geek that wished she was like her parents or her brothers.

"Dad, what age did you realise what you wanted to do?" I questioned the doctor.

"You have plenty of time for that, Arvada," My mum put in.

"Nonsense, Harmony. Arva, I was 14 when I realised how much I loved medicine and helping people. It will be any day now that you figure out what you want to do," My father said, again turning around to me. He looked back at the road.

"That's Martin's car, Simon," Mum informs dad of what he already knows. The familar white sedan was driving in our direction. Dad wound down his window to wave. In response, Martin aims a gun at our car. 

I want to yell at Martin, ask him what he's doing. Tell him he's making a mistake. 

I want to yell at dad, ask him to drive off road. Tell him he's making a mistake.

I want to yell at mum, as her why she informed dad of something he already knows. Tell her that she made a mistake.

Martin shot the gun.

"Simon!" Was the last thing I heard from my mother and father before we were rolling around and knocked out.

"No," I back into the other side of the hot air balloon. "That wasn't your fault," I tell him. 

"He was my father. Mum died giving birth to me. Of course it's my fault," He growls, finally fiddling with the fire to make our balloon go higher. In the distance, I can see a large red circle where we were supposed to land. I could see our friends landing. 

"Your father did not raise you. He left you when you were young. The only thing the two of you have in common is your DNA. Josh, you're nothing like him. He's a murderer! You're not! Your father held onto the death of your mother because my father couldn't save her after she birthed you. It wasn't my dad's fault, it wasn't my mum's fault, it was your father's. It's not your fault."