Page 13 of Merciless

Colton sniffled, continuing on his rant, and I deserved to hear it. “My mum’s been in the ground barely five fucking minutes, and that bitch has already replaced her. She’s stolen the dream, hasn’t she? Living in our home, sleeping in her bed, playing house with my dad. Like, who the fuck does that, Ave? Who the fuck are these people?”

No, son. It’s not like that. Was never like that. Yet, before I could even contemplate defending myself, that’s when I heard it. The crack in his voice, an echo of splinters carving right down to his young soul.

And there, right in front of me, I watched my son break down. My chest split open as his noiseless sobs reached me in the shadows, knowing I couldn’t do anything to soothe or comfort him. I had forfeited that role.

Avery placed a heavy arm over Colton’s shoulder. “I’m here, bro.”

“Are you?”

“Look where the fuck I am. I’ve held you up despite getting your vomit all over me,” he said, gesturing to his ruined front.

Colton sniggered before rubbing at his soiled face. “Yeah, I guess that does constitute ‘friendship’.”

“Fucker. You owe me a new shirt.”

“I owe you more than that… Thanks for looking out, Ave. I-I’m gonna focus on getting better.”

“Yeah, you are. I’m not watching you spiral anymore.”

Colton nodded and even managed a minute smile at his friend.

And with that final message, I knew my time of lurking was over. I did not have the right to spy on his torment. I didn’t have a right to him at all.

Although it would kill me, it was time to give Colton what he had requested: space. I had taken so much from him, unforgivingly adding to his grief. I had to be selfless for once and truly put him first. And if I had to stay away from him to do that, that’s what I’d do.

Above all, I wanted my boy to heal. Even if that meant he had to do it without me.

Chapter 8

COLTON

“Colt, you ready?” Avery called.

“Yeah. Give me a sec.”

I slipped on my jacket and ran a hand through my dark, curly hair, giving myself a quick once-over in the mirror.

My exterior hadn’t changed much, but I could see the difference. Staring back at me was a man drastically changed; one striving to survive, to do better, be better.

When I had arrived at college over a year before, I thought I’d be able to reset and refocus my efforts on a new purpose.

Oh, how I was sorely mistaken.

When I first transitioned to college, I was astray. The everyday was hard. Merely breathing was difficult. Until I moved into my dorm and found a reluctant friend in my roommate, Avery.

He was annoying, at first—chipper, positive and charismatic. Avery reminded me of everything I used to be.

However, despite my misgivings and lacklustre reception, my roommate never abandoned his golden retriever, do-good attitude, always providing subtle support and advice.

One night, after copious amounts of alcohol and an emotional breakdown, something changed inside me. I didn’t want to stay in that depressive cycle of mourning and hating the world. What I needed was to become someone my mother would be proud of, the person she had always envisioned me to be.

And with that internal shift came a renewed motivation to work hard and embrace life as it came, rather than coast through it like a ghost. In time, the all-consuming pain of loss soon transitioned into a constant ache, present but manageable.

Knock, knock.

“You better move your ass, pretty boy. Otherwise, I’m leaving without you,” Avery yelled through the door before retreating.

“Alright, alright.” I chuckled, following behind. Things were finally looking up.