I shouldn't have done it.
Even the build up to the moment was trying to pull me back from doing it. Every fiber of my being seemed to say 'stop, what the actual hell are you doing.' Will was the only thing that motivated that moment, with everything else trying it's damn hardest to be a sandbag.
Call it what you must; impulsive, or a distinct lack of self-control. All I know is if I had that moment back, I would have probably have chosen a very different option. I would have read the silence that existed between us, and not have made the biggest mistake of my life. Grand over-exaggerations aside, it truly did feel like this one moment would forever be a benchmark. Every time I wanted to do something stupid or rash, I would remember that moment. Perhaps the foresight would allow me to make actual logical decisions.
Xavier was something of a mystery to me. He was the known, and the unknown all at once. When I spoke to him, it felt like I was speaking to an old friend. But the reality of it was that we knew very little about each other. I could have probably counted all the things I did know about Xavier on one hand.
His mom was dead, though from what reason was still slightly unclear. For whatever reason, he liked midnight drives, and going to places where no one ventured. When it came to emotions and showing them he seemed very muted. He did not like to be caught off guard, as learned the hard way. The way his face was captured in the moonlight was enough to make even the strongest person lose their inhibitions for a grazing second.
Sleep, like most other things, had evaded me- though not for the first time. If anything, it was like my body was willing me not to sleep. Like there were so many things in the world that needed to be discussed before exhaustion set in. Despite everything that had happened in the past twelve hours, I couldn't bring myself to be worn out. Feeling tired right now would have been an insult to everything that had happened. As if I could turn my brain off, and send these flighty thoughts off to a more peaceful place. I couldn't bring myself to do that. I couldn't just lie down and forget about everything that had happened.
But regardless, I realized at some point that I must have let these thoughts lull me into a half-hypnotized, half-sleeping state.
Morning sounds soon flooded my ears, a clear sign that it was probably time to get up. At one point, I had used an alarm clock for this, but after the numerous, loud, complaints from my dad, I stopped using it. It would have been more beneficial to everyone in the long run. No more long drawn out mornings. No more stomping footsteps. No more anger.
Oh, how I wished it were just as simple as that.
I wish I could say that it's not always been like this, but it has. Maybe when I was younger it wasn't as obvious. Of course, back then I had no idea to look out for it, because how could you see something that you weren't actively looking for. It was only when I started to grow into my own skin that I started to take note; how angry, sullen, and bitter he was as a person. Everything he was seemed to be draped in this added layer of aggression and anger. No longer was he suppressing himself in front of me, not that I really cared. Now he wasn't so subtle with telling me how much of a waste of space I truly was.
And as much as I would have loved to have said that I didn't care what he thought, there was still a part of me that ached for him. It was this tiny part of myself that made me believe in everything he said. Trying to ignore it was futile, because the more it was left alone, the more it festered, the more it grew into something monumental.
"Jesus fuck, shut up!" came a voice from the silence.
This might have felt alarming to most, but to Garth it was more of a morning ritual. The morning sounds of cars passing in the street, and birds chirping their merry song always seemed to stir these four words together.
The good thing was that he had no idea that I was actually here. As far as he was aware, I was staying the night with my aunt Rosaline. Hell, as far as she knew, I was still sleeping in her guest room, locked away from the rest of the world before the day felt a little better.
As much as I hated to admit this, I needed to be here. If not for anything, then to look after my mom. She tied me to this place with the constant worries of her own safety. It was a hard thing to explain, how I was so willing to give up my own chance, just to make sure she was okay. Deep down, I still loved her. How could I not.
Memories of a childhood summer spent in Santa Monica flashed through my head for a moment. There had never been a happier time for either of us.
I distinctly remembered that summer, because it was the first time I had actually seen her. Instead of that fragile smile that she wore on her face, she wore one that had more conviction and steadiness. The way her steady eyes looked over the water, searching and scanning for something better. I must have been eight at the time, but to this day it still strikes me as one of my clearest memories.
We never talked about it all that often. Or at all really. The whole thing had been a single snapshot in time, trapped in between the pages of bad memories.
More shouts filled the house, and to some point I was alien to them; blocking them out as I had always done. Until that was, he called me out through name. And to say it hit me like a wrecking ball would have been an understatement.
"Where the fuck is he Lucia?" he roared in that voice that meant he must have been drinking the night before, or was still half-drunk. His footsteps fell heavy on the hardwood floor, giving away his every movement. "Where is Garth?"
It wasn't so much of a question but more of a demand.
Her voice was meek and tiny, so much so that I couldn't quite make her out. But I could always tell what she said from what happened next.
"Don't give me that bull," he said, slamming his hand against the table.
My breath halted, just hoping that he wouldn't be able to hear me. I was praying that for once things might have just went my way. The world was spinning fast, and I just wanted it to stop. If I could will anything to happen, it would be that today was not like the other days.
But who was I kidding? If there was even some sort of god, he was a cruel, sadistic son of a bitch.
I get that he can't get round to everyone, but if the cost of my loss of faith is only protecting me for a day, then it should have been something at the top of his list. A slow exhale left me, as I slowly pushed the covers off of myself and onto a heap at the foot of my bed.
Still dressed in the clothes I had worn yesterday, I spun and dangled my legs off of the side of the bed. My sneakers were right where I had left them, gently placed together ready to make a quick getaway if needed.
My entire room was arranged this way; one side clean, and the other messy. The side closest to the door was always filled with some sort of clutter, a necessary action needed if I wanted to get a quick getaway. I found that whilst crossing the room, my dad didn't pay much mind to the things around him, and because of this often stumbled and lost balance. Those extra few seconds allowed me to make my own quick getaway from the clean side of the room. Everything from my bed to my window was placed with precision; a hook where my schoolbag rested by the window; shoes in a neat row beside my bed; window always slightly open, and curtains always pulled back.
It looked like the room of two completely different boys. And in a way, it was. The boy who wanted to fly and had prepared, and the boy who wanted stay but feared the consequences.
Slipping on the shoes, I made a leap from my bed to the window sill, almost losing my balance in the process.
"I swear Lucia, if he's not there I'm gonna..." his voice trailed off as it came ever closer to his door. Part of me winced knowing what I was about to do was so selfish. But I'd make it up to her later; I would eventually come back and take the brunt of his rage.
But not right now.
I'm just not ready for that yet.
I'm sorry, I thought to myself, jumping the small gap from my window into the overgrown brambles down below. This was one of the luxuries of living on the ground floor.
~~~~~~~~~~
It had taken me a while to retreat to Rosaline's house. This was not helped by the fact that I felt so sleep deprived in this moment. I wanted more than anything to just collapse on the sidewalk and let the rest of the day pass me by. Where I able to afford such a luxury, I might have done exactly that.
But I couldn't. So I didn't.
Getting into my aunt's house proved a little more difficult than getting into my own house. It had always been this way; me sneaking out and then popping back in without her truly knowing anything. At least I think she was completely oblivious. If she wasn't, then she had a better poker face than me.
Slowly, I gripped the drain pipe which ran up to the roof, but also ran adjacent to the guest room where I had spent many a night. Exhaling slowly, I started my climb. Years of doing this had honed my practice into not looking down, and not letting go. One foot in front of the other, I began to scale the side of the house, easily finding footing on the points where the drain had been bolted on.
The sun was still on the rise, trying to win back the day for itself. No doubt my aunt was probably already up and cooking breakfast, as she generally did. It felt weird to consider that despite not having a family of her own, she was the most stable family unit I had. She was more than family to me than my actual family.
At least in her home I didn't have to worry about where the next hand would fall.
Eventually I reached the ledge, and pulled myself in. Everything here felt more like home. It was perhaps a more lived in place than my own home. There, I had to constantly arrange things, just in case a quick escape was needed. But here, I was free to actually live and to be myself.
Taking off my shoes, I quickly changed into a fresh pair of clothes. Some tattered jeans that I'd had for years, and a band tee; a stick figure-esque man who I always thought was sticking his tongue out at me. Over him rested 'Pearl Jam', whilst the single word 'Alive' fit tightly under him. I couldn't help but half-smile at the irony of it all.
Taking a quick glance at the mirror, everything seemed fine. Hair messy, without being incredibly so. Clothes which had been worn down through the years. An expression on my face that said everything was fine, when it was fairly clear that nothing ever was.
Eyes that looked through the cracked façades of everyone else, but could never look inwards.