Dante spoke slowly, as if revealing something to a child who could break at any moment. There was no judgement on his face, only concern. A small hint of disappointment.
I didn’t take offense. When I drank, I might as well be a psychotic yet fragile child. Lashing out at anybody who dared to get too close, breaking at the slightest inconvenience.
“Fuck,” I whispered, then screamed it louder as I angrily kicked a rock. “Fuck! I can’t believe it. I fucking let her down again. Why am I so damn stupid?”
Dante leaned against his car, which was parked on the neighborhood road beside us. “Don’t worry, I think she understood, though she might have felt hurt.”
“I wouldn’t blame her if she hated him. I fucking abandoned her after her mom died so I could get fucked up on booze, all because I’m a coward, and I hated having to face this town and my father’s ghost.” I leaned against the car too, staring up at the sky, wishing to be swallowed by it.
“It all worked out, man. I texted her, and as I said, she requested I pick her up. I took her to get some food, we had a nice talk, and now she’s safe at the motel.” He didn’t look at me, like there was a guilty truth he was holding back, but I didn’t pry. “I didn’t think you would do what you did to that house. Ismelled the smoke when I came through this way looking for you. I thought you might be there, but I didn’t expect to see a burnt pike of wood and ashes.”
It dawned on me what he meant. “Are you saying I set my childhood home on fire? I don’t remember doing that.”
Dante nodded. “Yep. Saw it for myself. Didn’t see you, so I drove through here slowly, thought I might see you walking, but instead I saw you passed out in the grass by the road.”
He looked at me like he was waiting for me to process it, to try on the feeling and see if it fit. My mind was blank, or maybe it was just trying very hard not to settle on the truth of what I’d done.
“Jesus Christ,” I croaked, shaking. “Was it—were there—fuck, was anyone in there?”
Dante’s look softened, like he’d been ready for this question. “No. Place was empty. Has been for years, right? Nobody’s stepped foot in it since your dad died, far as anybody knows. Nobody got hurt, unless you count yourself. Or the ghosts.”
I tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. My hands were shaking, not from the cold but from a tremor that started in the pit of my stomach and radiated out, a slow-motion explosion.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I stared at my hands, expecting them to be covered in blood, but finding only dirt ground into the knuckles and a smoky residue under the nails.
Dante was quiet for a long time. His head tilted toward the tree line. “I used to think you did it on purpose. The self-sabotage. Like you found a way to destroy everything before it could destroy you first.”
I snorted, and the taste of smoke came back. “You think I wanted to end up like this? A fuck-up who ruins everything?”
He shrugged, not unkind. “Nobody wants it, Caiden. But you wear it like armor.”
I tried to remember exactly how it felt, lighting the flame, watching the old place go up. There was a clarity to it, a perfect moment when time held its breath. But on the other side of that was nothing. No relief. Just a bigger, rawer hole.
I bent over and heaved, spitting bile onto the shoulder. “Fuck,” I croaked again, this time softer, for no one but myself. The world spun at the edges, like it wanted to throw me off.
Dante let me breathe it out. He never was one for speeches, just waited until the worst of the tremors passed. After a while, he nudged a bottle of water into my hand. I gulped it down.
“You need a ride?” Dante’s voice was so gentle that it made me wince. Like being offered a hand after you’d already punched your own teeth out.
“Yeah, that may be for the best.” My legs still felt like rubber. I wanted to punish myself, let the cold and the miles rub away some of the shame. But the weariness took over, and I agreed to convenience.
He nodded and pulled out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. I watched his lighter flicker in the dark and remembered the feel of flame in my own hand, how easy it was to destroy something that had always seemed indestructible.
“Hey,” I said, not sure what I meant to follow it with, but the word hung between us like a truce. “Thanks for not letting me rot out here.”
“No problem,” he said, his gaze falling into the distance. “We all got some part in the wreckage. Some of us are just better at hiding the matches.”
Eventually, we went into his car. He asked if I wanted to see the damage to the house. I shook my head and told him to keep driving.
"I can't go back to the motel right now," I said. "I can't let Amelia see me like this. I'm afraid I'll say something that hurtsher." My chuckle was hollow and sad. "I always manage to say the wrong thing when I've been drinking."
“You can crash at my place. It’s a nice one-story house. Not very pretty, but it’ll do.”
I stared at him for a minute, and in the dark it was easier to let my face be seen. “You’re not afraid I’ll puke on your couch?”
Dante snorted. “I’ve had worse people puke on my couch. Besides, you’re barely standing. You’ll pass out before you can even find the bathroom.”
I wanted to make a joke, or to tell him to fuck off, but my mouth was suddenly thick, and my tongue had no sense of direction. I nodded, grateful in a way I couldn’t speak, and followed him into the passenger seat before my knees gave out.
