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"Absolutely. I attempted to offer her a ride home, which I believe was a kind gesture. I wanted to seize that opportunity to confess my love, but it only resulted in an awkward conversation. She insulted me, and I became angry, ultimately kicking her out of my car..." I explained.
"Wait, you did what?"
"I asked her to get out of my car!"
"That wasn't kind, was it?"
"No. But I struggle with being nice, and I don't believe she will ever forgive me now..."
"Well, that was incredibly messed up of you, Dax!" Aunt exclaimed, her voice filled with disapproval.
"I hate pretending to be nice, it feels unnatural," I confessed with a sigh. "I thought if I changed for her sake, things would improve... but it only made things worse."
"Acknowledging the importance of kindness is not a complicated concept, Dax. It's a simple and effortless act, but it also requires time and consistency. The same principle applies to trust. Trust is something that must be earned, and it takes time. In your case, Dax, you shattered her trust, and the only way for her to trust you again is if you start anew, rebuilding your entire persona."
"I just don't understand," I admitted, my voice filled with confusion.
"Start anew and change your ways," Aunt Mary explained to me.
I was slightly irritated as I responded, "How exactly?"
She replied, "You can start by apologizing."
"What if she doesn't agree?" I asked, not really confused but rather frustrated by the thought of starting fresh with Skye again.
"Well, I'm not sure... you can always start somewhere, but I doubt you're friend material," Aunt mocked, her tone softening slightly. "To put it more kindly, you're the type of person who prefers their own company over others, who uses force to get things done, who plays by their own rules, and who snitches on someone when necessary." Aunt's words hit home, as she seemed to know me and my flaws all too well.
I was at a loss for words, not knowing how to respond to Aunt's brutally honest assessment of me.
"I'm not all that bad, Aunt... at least I still care for some people, well, a few... fewer," I stammered, trying to defend myself.
"Well, Dax, I believe it's up to you to figure out how to change your lifestyle. Remember, you're the only one who can mend your ways, not me... the choice is yours," Aunt declared as she stood up from the couch and stretched her body. "You know what? I'm going to bed. Goodnight, and don't stay up too late unless you're contemplating how to improve yourself," she added with a yawn, making her way back to her room upstairs.
The sound of her footsteps echoed in my ears until they eventually faded away, leaving me alone with my thoughts, which once again led me into a sea of darkness.
Chapter Five
Skye
My knuckles hovered inches from the worn wood, the brass knocker suddenly an insurmountable obstacle. A month had crawled by since I’d swallowed my pride, stood on this creaky porch, and begged my mother to let me back in. Even then, I knew her heart, as brittle as a December snowflake, wouldn’t thaw for a prodigal daughter.
This wretched exile, all courtesy of that scoundrel Dax. Now, I was a beggar returning to the very doorstep I’d sworn never to darken again. My search for a new haven had been futile, every "affordable" flat a cruel joke. Doubt, a venomous serpent, slithered into my ear, whispering that even with extra shifts, I couldn't outrun the rent. Life, it seemed, had a knack for kicking you when you were already down.
As I steeled myself for the knock, my hands betrayed me, trembling like leaves in a winter gale. A clammy sweat slicked my palms, mirroring the storm brewing within. Each second stretched into an eternity, the anger towards Dax, a dull ache, intensifying with every beat of my heart. I should have slapped him across that smug face when I had the chance.
A deep breath, a shaky prayer, then my fingers met the knocker. A timid tap, barely audible against the cacophony in my head. Silence.
Then, a bolder rap, the echo resounding through the hollow porch. And just as I was about to turn away, defeated, the door creaked open.
Not my mother, thank God. My brother, his face a mask of surprise, stood framed by the dusty doorway. Relief, a fleeting butterfly, fluttered in my chest. At least the door wasn't slammed shut in my face. It was enough, for now, a tiny crack in the wall I’d built around my despair. The battle, I knew, had just begun. But for the first time in a month, a sliver of hope, fragile as a spider's thread, dared to glimmer in the darkness.
The creak of the door swung open, revealing not the haven I craved, but a scene ripped from a nightmare. Kenneth, my brother, peeked through the narrow gap, his eyes flitting nervously before he flung the door wide. The stale air hit me like a physical blow, thick with the stench of neglect and something far more unsettling.
Stepping inside, my foot snagged on a discarded beer bottle, sending a tremor through my already fragile composure.
The living room, once a meticulously maintained haven, had devolved into a battlefield of discarded clothes and crumpled pizza boxes. A half-eaten sandwich sat abandoned on the coffee table, its crust crawling with ants.
My gaze, drawn by a flicker of movement, landed on a woman sprawled on the sofa, her body draped in barely there clothing. Her face, obscured by the dim moonlight filtering through the dusty window, was a canvas of shadows and secrets.
