Chasing Shadows | ✓

Chapter Twenty-Four

"WHAT?"

Father blinked, a dark shadow crossing his face. His brows turned downwards, as if he couldn't believe had just said those words himself.

"Nothing," He muttered and shook his head like he was trying to get rid of an unwanted thought. "For the last time, go change! I won't ask again. You've wasted enough of my time as it is.

"Wait, no," I sniffled, pushing myself off the floor. I stumbled over my feet drunkenly, pointing an accusing finger at him. "I heard you; you just said that I'm not –"

"For God's sake Trevor!" He ran a rough hand through his hair, cutting me off before I could finish. "Enough already! You're giving me a migraine. Do as your told for once!"

Every word stung, only fueling the fire that burned inside of me. Every violated phrase was like gasoline to it, and my fists began to clench. Why did he act like he couldn't hear me? Why was he ignoring me, when I was screaming at him?

"I've been doing everything you wanted for my whole life!" I spat. My chest heaved up and down and I struggled to hold back the building rage that demanded to be released. "I've had enough! Why can't you ever talk to me? Why can't you be honest with me for once? Is it that hard to do?"

"We'll talk later," He dismissed with a flick of his wrist. "We have guests now."

"No!" I shouted, the veins in my neck sticking out. "No, you're going to explain to me exactly what you meant when you said I wasn't your son."

"Is there even anything to explain?" A cruel sneer formed on his lips, and he leaned forward, eyes glaring straight into mine, "I'm not your Father, and you're not my son!"

Despite hearing him say it the first time, it hadn't actually registered in my head, the meaning of his words. Or maybe there was a part of me that desperately hoped that I had heard him wrong. But, it wasn't until I was slapped in the face with those words, that I staggered back from the impact. I could feel my face turning a ghostly shade of white and my mouth opened and closed; working soundlessly. My heart had rung out until I was dry inside; no more tears would come forward. Yet, my insides still felt as raw as if a winter wind was blowing right through my skin.

"What. . ." I trailed off, unable to comprehend what he was saying. "You're not making any sense. What - What do you mean I'm not your son?"

"That's right," His lips curled up into a sickly-sweet smile, "You want to know why I don't give a shit about you? It's because you're not even my son. You're just some bastard I got stuck with after that bitch died -"

"Don't talk about Mom like that!" I yelled, unable to stop the crack that sounded through my voice. My face was red with suppressed rage; and a scream from deep within, forced its way from my mouth. Like my terrified soul had unleashed a demon, all I felt was anger. "She deserves more than that!"

"She deserves to rot in hell!" He bellowed, and I jumped at the sheer volume of his voice. His face grew purple as he slammed his hand on the countertop. "She cheated on me, and then left me with you. A bastard, no less!"

"No. . ." I shook my head, not believing his words, "No. Mother would never do that."

My Mother would have never cheated; she wasn't that kind of a person. Unblinking, I stared at the floor, thinking back to the few memories I shared with her. Her bright smile, her warm aura, her constant jokes that always seemed to put a smile on my face. . . I could almost hear her voice even though I hadn't heard it in years. I could remember the stupid things she used to say, all those catch-phrases that I never understood. Whenever Mother was home, it was only her voice, the only salve, that could ever erase the hurt.

"Well she did," Father spat out, rage lighting up his eyes in the dark, "And you know what? I'm glad she died in that fire. She fucking deserved that after what she did to me."

"How can you say something like that?" I rasped, "How can you be glad that she's dead?!"

"She was a selfish whore –"

"Enough!" I screamed, the nausea swirling unrestrained in my empty stomach. "You don't even deserve to have her name between your lips!"

"Of course," He scoffed, nodding his head in understanding. "Of course, the bastard will stick up for the bitch."

"You know what? I don't blame her for cheating on you," I snarled, raising an accusing finger at him. "If you were like this when she was still alive, then I see every reason why she wouldn't want to be with you."

"Don't forget who raised you for the past ten years boy," Father warned and took a threatening step towards me. "I did."

"Raised me?" I raised a brow, scoffing in disbelief. "You haven't done shit for me! Mom was the only one who actually gave a shit about me. You never did!"

In the blink of an eye, the palm of his hand cracked against my cheek, forcing my head to the right. The sound echoed in the empty room, the familiar stinging pain spreading through my face.

As a lump formed in my throat, all I felt was a hollowness. And while sometimes my hollowness was like a shell, holding in a thousand oceans of tears, sometimes though, it held a thousand pieces of glass that were wedged in between my soul and body. That was the pain I was feeling. It lay like dirty snow over every other emotion, greying my spirit, tainting all that could bring me joy and relief.

It was like a void. A dark void. A never-ending dark void that consumed everything, so I was left feeling nothing.

Empty.

"I've had enough of your shit for one evening," He breathed heavily, speaking with a coldness I had never heard before, "I won't tolerate this kind of disrespect in my house. Not after everything I've done for you. Am I making myself perfectly clear?"

". . . I hate you," I whispered into the silent room. Lifting my head, I stared at him straight in the eyes. "I really hate you."

Hatred was always used lightly between people. "Oh, I hate it when. . ." or "I hate that. .. " But hate. . . Real hatred was indescribable. Hatred was what turned those who had hearts of gold into people who could feel nothing but anger. It was what turned me into the monster that I was today. It was selfish in nature, and took without concern. It took my family, my life - everyone around me away. It suffocated me on the daily, to the point where even breathing had become a struggle. Each breath in, felt like there was millions of needles sticking into my skin, piercing it.

But I knew, as I stared at him with tears once again blurring my vision, that if I could only hate one person on this planet; it would be him.

"And I hate you," He hissed, "So now that we have that out of the way, get the fuck upstairs and be down in five minutes."

We both stood there, silent, for a few moments. Neither of us looked away; even when my lips began to tremble or when my shoulders started to heave with emotion, I still didn't lower my gaze. My lashes brimmed with heavy tears while my hands curled up into shaking fists in a desperate attempt to fight against the pain that demanded to be unleashed.

A lone tear slid out from the corner of my eye, and for the second time today, the floodgates opened. I wept, tears streaming from my eyes, heaving sobs tearing from my throat, but I still didn't look away.

It wasn't until my sobs drive me to my knees, did my determined gaze fall. My heart and mind felt like they were cut in half, stinging with every breath I took.

Yet, wasn't it a cruelty of life that a heart could keep on beating, even after it had been shattered into millions of pieces?

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