AllFreeNovel
Share Us
We crossed the threshold where our front door once was. Spray painted on one of the concrete pillars was the word “fag.”
“Don’t pay any attention to that, Justinas,” Dad murmured as he put his hand on my back.
We slowly combed through Rami’s room, putting any clothes we thought could be cleaned in a bag. Dad gathered more clothes while I went to my room. Our dresser was a pile of ashes, but there were some clothes that were in the closet that would be okay once cleaned.
After I put what I could in a bag, I went to find my dad. He was standing in the center of his bedroom with his hands over his face. I quickly wiped the tears from my cheeks and took a deep breath as I watched Dad cry.
I felt so sick, and I knew all of this was my fault. I hadn’t spoken since the morning at the hospital. I’d cried plenty at night with my face buried in a pillow or while I took showers. No matter how much I cried, nothing eased the pain I felt in my chest and stomach. I avoided any sort of physical contact with my dad and brother that they offered in solace. I didn’t deserve it, not after what I’d caused.
I maintained not letting them see me cry or hear me speak, until I saw my dad break down in the damp shambles of his and my mother’s room. The tears spilled from my eyes, and I finally spoke.
“Dad.” I swallowed hard, trying to make my voice sound even and not raspy. When he turned to look at me and I saw his red, swollen eyes, I completely broke. “I’m sorry,” I sobbed.
“Justinas.” I let my dad gather me in his arms and hold me while I cried. I cried the hardest I’d cried in the past few days just because he was holding me. “Son, this isn’t your fault.”
“Yes, it is.”
“No, Justinas. Shh, it’ll be okay, son. We’re going to get out of this place.”
“We are?”
“Yes. It’ll take a few more days, but I’ve been talking to the support group in the U.S. for Rami. They will help us get on our feet. It will be okay, Justinas. We will have a fresh start, and Rami will get better care than we can get here.”
The day following the funerals for Mom, Adomas, and his father, the four of us were on a plane to start our new life in California.
Chapter Two
JUSTIN
PRESENT TIME – LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA
I frowned when I open the email that contained my class schedule for my second semester at USC. Calculus and Technical English weren’t my issue. I was pissed off about having Professor Lucas Grant … again. I had him last semester for Organic Chemistry, and now I had him for Molecular Biology.
I sent Dylan, Emily, and London a text asking how their schedules look. I called them my friends, even though I rarely did anything with them. I rarely did anything with anyone. I shared a few classes with them in high school and the four of us gravitated to one another during a new student orientation at USC. Emily replied right away and said she was happy with her schedule. London’s class schedule was aggressive because he wanted to graduate early. Dylan was probably at work, and I’d catch up with him later.
Grant was such a hardass and a dick. Fellow classmates shared my thoughts because no one seemed to want to cross this guy. Not that I thought anyone would purposely try to set off a college professor, but I’d never been in a classroom environment where adult students acted as though they were in a military setting. None of my other classes had been like his Organic Chem class last semester. Students would quiet down a few minutes prior to the start of the lecture, so the lecture hall was dead quiet for him to make his entrance.
Yet his classes were always full. No one skipped his class. No one left early or arrived late. No one dared speak without raising their hand. No one disrupted another student. That was my experience last semester. He reduced my grade for an exam once for messy handwriting, even though all of my answers were correct.
And maybe he came across as an asshole to me because I was the only freshman in his class, and I wasn't used to that kind of academic atmosphere. Before I started my first semester at USC, I spoke to my counselor about my unique financial situation. Though I was on a partial scholarship that only paid for tuition, the cost of books and supplies forced me to only be able to take three classes each semester.
We literally had no money to spend on anything school related for me. I wouldn’t even be able to go to college if I hadn’t earned a partial scholarship from the L.A. Times where Dad worked. Nic worked two full-time jobs, and Dad worked the full-time job and a part-time one. They staggered their work schedule so one of them would be home to care for Rami. I took on a part-time job on campus that I was able to work around my class schedule. I set aside some money from my summer job after high school for a few semesters’ worth of books and supplies.
I had to strategically plan out my degree path and the classes based on how much the materials and books cost. The way my counselor had it planned out, I could only take one lab class a semester since those were the most expensive. They tried to pair it with another class or two that didn’t require many books. Despite not having the credits that would be equivalent to what a late sophomore or junior would have, I had received special permission from the Biomedical Engineering Department, in addition to Professor Grant, to take his classes.
I heard Rami make some noise and looked over at her. She was resting but suddenly had a fit of violent spasms in her legs. I set my phone down on the kitchen table and hurried over to her. I started to bend over the pull-out sofa bed to hold her legs still, but remembered Dad’s suggestion of sitting on the bed and holding her legs together and against the side of my leg and thigh. In this position, there was less of a chance for me to get kicked in the jaw or face, as opposed to bending over her.
I sat on the bed next to her lower legs and gently pulled them against my body. I wrapped my arm around her legs and placed my other hand on top of them. This was the safest way to help her ride out the spasm without hurting herself. She stared at me with a worried expression all over her face.
“It’s okay, Rami. It’ll pass, just try to relax.” I smiled at her.
I looked at the children’s book and the activity book she had open on the blanket beside her. The book was at the level of what a healthy kindergartener or first grader would be reading. Rami’s mind was not that of a healthy thirteen-year-old. Laying on the page with the dot-to-dot sun and sailboat she had partially done was her thick blue crayon with some of the wrapper gone. Instead of the blue trail being circular around the sun, she had drawn a line to connect number one and eleven, instead of one to two.
“Looks like you’re just about done with the picture,” I commented and smiled again.
Rami had slumped down during the spasms. Her head was in an awkward position against her pillows and her glasses were askew.
“Let me know if you want me to put the picture on the fridge,” I said.
