Chapter eleven : Seth

She had feelings for me. She really did.

I keep replaying her words in my mind, every syllable coated in honesty, in courage. I never expected that. Not from her. Not from anyone, really. But last night—on that rooftop, beneath the golden blur of the setting sun—she looked me in the eye and poured her heart out.

And then…

She kissed me. Soft, unsure, trembling.

And I stood there, frozen. Not because I didn’t feel anything—but because I felt everything all at once.

The warmth of her lips still lingers on mine. Light. Real. Completely unexpected. I didn’t kiss her back. I didn’t even move. And when she pulled away, looking so small, so nervous—

I walked away. God, I walked away. Why?

I’ve spent the whole night thinking about it. I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t shut off my brain. Every glance she gave me in class, every small smile—

It all makes sense now. It was there. Her feelings. I just never dared to believe it. Or maybe I was too afraid to look deeper.

But now? Now, it’s all I see.

Just when I thought my heart could finally rest—just when I’d let myself feel something real—my phone rang.

Dad.

I stared at the screen for a second too long. My thumb hovered over the green button. I knew I had no choice.

“Hello?”

“Hi son....I’ll be in New York tomorrow. JFK. 9 AM. Should pick me up okay. Don’t be late.”

Click. That was it.

I sat there, holding my phone like it had burned me. He's coming back.

I didn’t even realize my hands had started to shake until I looked down. My whole body felt... tight. Like something inside me was winding up, about to snap.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. I really couldn’t breathe.

Everything from the past just came crashing in. The shouting. The silence. The bruises no one saw. The fear that never really left. And now, even after all these years, that one voice—his voice—can still drag me back like I never left.

I bent forward, elbows on my knees, and buried my face in my hands. My palms were sweating.

Why does he still have this hold on me?

I thought I was better now. I thought I’d grown out of this. But here I am, shaking like that scared little boy again. Just one phone call and I’m falling apart all over again. And the worst part? She doesn’t know any of this.She kissed me. Told me how she feels. And God, for a moment, I felt like maybe I deserved it—her, that peace, her warmth. But now I don’t even know what I am.

How do I tell her this part of me? How do I tell her that the boy she kissed is still haunted by the man who raised him?I can’t.

So I sat there, alone in my room, feeling like a scared kid all over again. Just counting the hours till morning.

From tomorrow, that monster will be in my house. Wandering through my space, touching my things, judging me with those red, piercing eyes. He’ll talk about Mom, about my sister, and eventually—about me. Always about me. How disappointed he I was. How I’ve never measured up. He might go on about his business again, and at the end, it always comes back to the same question: “Do you want to take over the business?” And then the arguments start. I always lose. Not because he’s right, but because I can never find the words sharp enough to cut through his. I don’t know how I’m going to survive with that monster under the same roof.

I held myself tighter. Tried to wrap the quilt around me, to feel some kind of warmth—but somehow, it still felt cold. I lied on the bed, but couldn’t get sleep. My eyes fixed on the ceiling, chasing rest that never came. He’s gonna be here. Tomorrow. And everything inside me is spiraling—thoughts of Nyla, of Dad, of everything that exists. Should I keep tutoring her? Just mind my own business and pull away? Should I ignore what happened between us, pretend it meant nothing? And my father… how do I respond to him? How do I answer his questions, dodge his disappointment? What the hell am I supposed to do?

My eyes stung, but I tried not to cry. I’m already 28. Grown. Too old to be sobbing like a child. But every time a tear slipped down, her voice echoed like thunder in my head—“Men shouldn’t cry.” That’s what she always said. “Boys aren’t supposed to cry.” She’d remind me again and again whenever I broke down after getting beaten up by my drunken father. I wrapped my arms around myself and wept silently, the kind of crying you don’t hear, just feel. I don’t know when I fell asleep. But yeah… eventually, the darkness dragged me under, with my pillows damp and my mind spinning. Peace? It’s never been near me.

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