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Prologue
The Night Of Their Meeting
Can I end this suffering? Colin mused to himself. Feeling sadness engulf him, a temporary reprieve because at least it wasn't numbness.
Yet.
Colin sat silently in a windowless room in the two-bedroom house on his property. The hushed sounds of the news reporter drolled in the background, and the soft pitter patter of rain beat against the roof, the only noise to break his silence.
Arms folded, Colin leaned his back heavily against the wooden chair, facing the wall that held only a handful of colorful, blown-up canvases. His chest ached as his eyes slowly roved each one before landing on the canvas of him as a child in a superman cape, with his dalmation he'd loved so dearly.
His hand rubbed his chest hard, wishing he could pull his heart out and live without it. Thinking it'd feel better than walking around with the mind-numbing guilt he carried with him daily. Deciding he was done living through carrying the weight of this around with him.
It should all be over tonight.
Because Colin was weary.
Tired of oppressing and feeling the awful anxiety that never left him. Tired of fighting the strength of his panic attacks. Tired of pretending he wasn’t who he was…
Tearing his eyes away from the picture of him and his childhood dog, Marley, he gritted his teeth. Feeling like a coward as he'd never been strong enough to let himself own another dog in his adulthood. His sadness mounted thinking about all the years of opportunities for companionship that he'd wasted.
His eyes continued their familiar route along the wall, going over the other photos before freezing on the picture of his parents.
Once happy, once upon a time…
Reluctantly, he allowed his eyes to rest upon the image of his father. Tall at six foot four, his Papi was a broad statured Caucasian man with strong arms, a wide chest, and a handsome endearing smile.
Colin’s eyes stung, wondering what his Papi looked like now, twenty-three years since he saw him last. His mind swelled with questions of his father. Did he have gray hair? Wrinkles? Was his voice still elegant, or had it grown gritty and weak with age? Did he ever find love again? Did he have more children? His father would be in his mid-seventies now.
Was he even still alive?
With a ragged inhale Colin wondered for the millionth time if his father ever thought about him. He averted his eyes and bowed his head when his gaze stopped at the canvas in the middle. The image he could never let himself focus on for too long. His mother.
The Latina beauty had long, dark hair, petite features, and a full lipped smile. He could barely remember her laugh, her voice, her smell.
The pain still sliced bone deep.
Madre.
Colin's eyes watered unchecked as he stared at the canvas. Him at sixteen, standing by himself before her body in the casket. Abandoned by his broken hearted father to bury his mother. Never to see either of them again.
Alone in the world since.
A tortured sob escaped his throat as he leaned forward, putting his head in his hands.
Colin groaned, the pain washing over him in waves. He'd expended an enormous amount of effort trying to calm himself from his panic attack, but tonight his usual methods weren't working. Hands trembling, he raised his head to take a last look at the canvases before he stood up and turned, hearing his phone vibrate on the lone wooden desk against the opposite wall.
Reaching for it he opened the text thread.
Brother, I need you to answer me. I'm on my way, I'm coming as fast as I can. Please stay there. Don’t move! -J
Colin didn't bother to reply. Shoving his phone in his pocket his mind whirled, thinking about the deathly steep curve on the other side of town.
Do I have the balls to do this? I'm just so tired, so empty, he mused sadly.
Tired of feeling lonely. Always alone.
Colin felt the tears fall down his face, and he swiped them off with a low grunt. His chocolate-colored eyes fell on his computer monitor, showing the local news.
