Page 160 of Breathe Like Hell

“Hi, Mom,” I said and hugged her, then stepped inside.

So much time had passed since I’d last been here. The smell of cigarette smoke slammed into me like a fucking wall, the scent dropping me back into the past. I’d never ended up burning the flash drive I found in my closet, the one with all the old PhotoBooth videos on it, and everything was the same now, as if I’d walked through the screen right into one of those grainy memories.

My father was sitting on the couch, watching football on the TV. He didn’t acknowledge me when I went past.

I followed my mother into the kitchen, where she’d been preparing food. Most of it came from a can or a box, but it was still better than what I ate living on my own. At least Micah and Mason had mostly remedied my problem of never having any food to eat.

“How have you been?” she asked, busying herself with opening a can of green beans. “Oh, why don’t you take your coat off?”

I shrugged it off my shoulders and went to hang it on a hook by the door.

Back in the kitchen, I propped my hip against the counter and glanced around at all the familiar sights. “I’m doing alright. How are you?”

“Doing well.”

“That’s good.”

“How’s school going?”

“It’s fine. I graduate in the spring. You can come watch, if you want.” I took in a shaky breath, then blew it out slowly. I was already getting a headache just being here. The fan on the microwave over the stove was rattling loudly, and I could hardly smell the food beneath the cloying stench of cigarette smoke. My eyes shifted to look out the back window, towards the edge of the forest.

Did you run away, too?

“Right, I⁠—”

“How about you help out instead of just standing there?” my father yelled over his shoulder, never pulling his gaze from the screen.

I could barely hide the distaste on my face as I glanced at my mother to get her reaction. She just looked down, quiet, then offered me some potatoes to peel.

“Oh, um—Anthony’s mother died about eighteen months ago, just so you’re aware,” she said as she wiped her hands on a rag. “You probably don’t want to ask him about her.”

My chest went tight.

“Oh.” I picked up the peeler and started to cut the skin off the potatoes into a yellow bowl. “What happened?”

“She overdosed a few months after getting out of prison. She’d been staying with Anthony in California while she was looking for work, so I believe he was the one to find her.”

“That’s sad,” I said, trying to ignore the lump in my throat.

“Yes, it is. I never knew much about her. I just wanted you to be aware before he got here.”

“Okay.”

We didn’t talk much while I helped her finish preparing the meal, and my dread continued growing larger inside of me with each passing second. He was going to arrive soon. As much as I wished I could put it off forever, I needed the bandage to be ripped off. Once I dealt with this nightmarish meal, then I could go home. Home was not here.

There was a knock at the door. My stomach dropped.

I felt lightheaded as my mother went to answer it. I stayed hidden in the kitchen, staring down at the countertop littered with burn marks, listening to Anthony greet her, then another female voice do the same. I heard my father get up from his chair, then heavy footsteps on the floor.

A rough hand landed on my shoulder and I flinched.

“Don’t be fuckin’ rude. Hiding away in here like there’s something wrong with you.” My father shoved me forward out of the kitchen, forcing me to stumble a few steps before righting myself.

Anthony’s eyes found mine. Green and green.

Always in my blood.

Every part of me had been wishing that he would’ve gotten ugly, had a horrible life, fallen into a pathetic pit reserved for incestuous pedophiles.