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I have no idea how long I’ve been driving, but my stomach bottoms out when I realize where I am. Or what’s left of where I am.
I lean over, feeling around underneath the passenger seat to find the whiskey I bought a couple of weeks ago. I meant to bring it inside but got distracted that day with new tattoo gear. A sigh of relief escapes me when my fingers touch the cool glass of the bottle.
Thank goodness for minor distractions that left this here.
I take the bottle with me as I open the door and sit on the hood of my Jeep. All I can do is stare at the remnants of the house I once called home. The roof is caving in, the paint is chipping off the side, and it looks like it could collapse at any moment with the slightest gust of wind. Maybe it should.
Maybe they should demolish the home and erase all the wicked memories that lie within those walls. Wash away the blood staining the memories this place holds for me. The place that still haunts my nightmares every single night.
Chills wrack my body while sweat from the hot air drips down my back. My childhood home is a place I never come to anymore. I avoid it like the plague. Any time I’m on the West Side, I don’t come down this street; I won’t even come within a few blocks of this place.
I gulp down a long drink of my liquid therapy as the images of the house slowly start to creep back into my mind. I’m trying to block them out, but I can’t. My mind isn’t strong enough. The burn of the whiskey attempts to push them away, but that dreadful day still plays as I stare straight ahead.
“Dad! Mom! I’m home!”I yell the moment I step inside the door. My dad gets mad when I yell into the house instead of finding them, but I can’t wait. They let me stay over at Nix’s house last night and I want to tell them all about it.
Nix’s dad and my dad work together, kind of. My dad is a member of the Snakes, and Nix said his dad is their lawyer, so they sometimes have to do stuff together. I’m not really sure what, though. Dad doesn’t really want me to know, and neither does Mom, but sometimes Nix and I sneak around and listen to their conversations when we aren’t supposed to.
“Dad!” I saw his motorcycle in the driveway along with my mom’s old, beat-up car. I know they’re home. They wouldn’t go anywhere knowing I’d be coming home today.
I rip off my shoes at the door like Mom prefers and head toward the back door to see if they’re outside. Looking out there, I don’t see any movement in our small fenced-in yard, but I open it anyway and yell for them.
Silence. It’s all I’m greeted with.
Where the heck are they?
A bad feeling washes over me the moment I close the door. Something doesn’t feel right. My parents wouldn’t go anywhere without their vehicles. Even if Dad left, Mom would stay here for me. She doesn’t like me to be alone without one of them. I don’t like to be alone. They know that.
With the gang involvement my dad has a hand in, they worry about me being unprotected. That’s why I know they wouldn’t just take off.
“Hello? Anyone home?” It’s almost eleven in the morning, there’s no way they’d still be sleeping. Dad always wakes up before the sun rises, and like clockwork on Saturdays, you can always find Mom reading a book on the patio.
My skin starts to itch, and I break out in a sweat. My hands are clammy, and my heart begins to pound harder inside my chest. Something is very wrong. I can feel it. Mom always says I have a good gut for knowing when something is wrong; at this moment, I wish I didn’t.
I don’t like feeling this way.
Like I’m in the middle of the ocean, waiting for the waves to take me under. It’s a drowning feeling. One that overwhelms me until I can’t take it anymore.
I slowly creep down the narrow hallway, making my way to my parent’s bedroom. The door is shut, and no noise comes out the closer I get. It’s quiet. The only thing I can hear is the sound of my own breathing and the way the floor creaks under my feet.
Reaching for the handle, I suck in a deep breath and brace myself for what I’m going to find on the opposite side of this door.
I push the door open as quickly as possible, regretting my decision just as quickly as I made it. I take in the horrific sight in front of me, trying to process what I’m seeing. I blink over and over again, hoping that I’m dreaming. That my mind is playing some sick joke on me.
My knees crash to the ground. If it’s painful, I wouldn’t know it. I’m not sure I can feel anything right now. My head spins like I’m floating, like I’m not inside my own body. Screaming rings through my ears and I finally realize it’s coming from me.
My chest is caving in. In front of me is absolute chaos.
Blood.
There’s so much blood.
No. This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.
I…I can’t breathe. I…what is happening?
Red paints the room like a canvas, sprayed across the white walls. A drip from the ceiling catches my attention, falling down onto Mom’s lifeless body.
Lying on the bed are my parent’s bodies. Unmoving, pale, and stiff.
