I don't remember pushing the backstage door open.
One moment Samuel is standing there, telling me something that rewired the entire meaning of my existence, and the next… I am outside.
Cold air hits my face, but it barely registers. My body feels borrowed, like a cheap rental. The legs keep walking, but I am not inside them. My mind is nothing but a dim room with one sentence echoing again and again.
Mark Bennett is my father too.
It repeats so loudly I almost look around, expecting someone else to whisper it into my ear.
The street outside the theater is flooded with people. Laughing, rehashing scenes, clutching programs, calling someone "the boy who played Romeo." A girl brushes past me saying something about the balcony scene, and for a second I wonder why she is talking about a stranger.
The whole world feels too loud while I am muted.
I keep moving.
My footsteps sound like they belong to somebody else. My hands are shaking, but I only notice when my phone slips as I try to put it back into my pocket.
My vision blurs. I blink, thinking it is tears, but I am too numb for tears.
I sit on the bus. Or maybe I simply appear there. The lights flicker overhead and every flicker matches the sentence pounding in my skull.
Mark Bennett is my father too.
Samuel's face flashes in my mind. He did not look smug or triumphant. He did not look like someone who wanted to hurt me.
He looked like a person who had been dragging a heavy secret for years and finally set it down on the floor between us. A bitter, exhausted relief.
Somehow that makes the whole thing feel even worse.
I press my forehead against the cold bus window. The city lights streak across the glass like smeared paint.
I try to breathe.
I try to think.
I try to understand how something that felt impossible a few minutes ago is suddenly the most real thing in my life.
But my thoughts are nothing but static. A broken radio with one sentence jammed in place.
I get off at my stop.
I do not remember standing. I do not remember climbing the stairs.
My key shakes in the lock.
My chest feels stuffed with cotton, too full and too hollow at the same time.
All I manage to whisper, to myself, to the hallway, to whatever ghost of the life I thought I understood is:
"…Dad…"
The door opens.
And everything that shattered behind me follows me inside.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
The door is not even fully open when something pink and glittery smacks into my face.
Alice.
More specifically, Alice holding a crooked paper crown that says Romeo of the Year in handwriting that looks like it survived a mild earthquake.
"There he is!" she shouts, as if I have just returned from a war instead of a college play. "The legend. The myth. The drama king."
Josh is behind her, balancing three pizza boxes like a man auditioning for a cooking show nobody asked for.
"Congrats, Shakespeare," he says, nudging me inside with his knee. "I got extra cheese because your life is obviously falling apart and cheese fixes everything."
I exhale a sound that tries to be a laugh. It feels thin.
Alice jumps up, places the paper crown on my head, steps back and squints critically.
"Perfect," she declares. "You look like a king who has not slept since childhood."
Josh whistles. "Accurate."
Despite his earlier distance, he is slowly drifting back toward his usual self. He can never stay mad for very long.
I attempt a smirk. "Thanks for the glowing review."
"Anytime," Alice replies instantly.
The room is warm with low lights, soft music and the familiar smell of pizza. It should be comforting. It usually is.
Tonight it feels like I am separated from everything by a glass wall.
They are buzzing with excitement.
I am buzzing with shock.
But I sit when Alice pulls me to the couch. I take the pizza slice Josh hands me so they will not worry. The taste barely exists.
Alice reenacts the balcony scene with a feather duster because she "felt emotionally aligned with Juliet's chaos." Josh records her while laughing like an idiot.
I smile when they expect me to smile.
I give small laughs when they pause for my reaction.
I lean forward when they talk, even though my mind is still stuck backstage, replaying Samuel's voice.
We are brothers, Ash.
My throat tightens.
Alice notices first. She always does.
She pauses mid-speech, feather duster frozen, eyes narrowing slightly in the I know something is off but I will not push yet way.
"You okay?" she asks lightly, like she is offering me a polite escape route.
I chew slowly and nod once. "Just tired."
She does not believe me, but she lets me keep the lie.
Josh pretends to scroll on his phone, though his eyes flick toward me every few seconds. Quiet concern has always been his language.
"So," he says casually, "big star... how does it feel to be worshipped by the entire campus?"
I shrug. "Overrated."
He laughs. "Yeah, definitely. I could do it better."
Alice throws a cushion at him. "You cannot even spell balcony correctly."
"Look." Josh raises his hands in mock surrender. "English is optional. My beauty speaks on its own."
I laugh again. This one almost sounds real.
The pizza sits barely touched. The crown keeps sliding down my forehead and Alice adjusts it each time she walks past.
Eventually she sits beside me and rests her head on my shoulder. For once she is quiet.
"You did good today, Ash," she says softly.
"Really good."
Something aches deep in my chest.
"Thanks," I whisper.
Josh lowers the music. They start arguing over who stole the last breadstick. Their normalcy presses against me like a warm blanket I cannot quite feel.
When the room settles again, I stand and stretch.
"I think I am going to sleep," I say. "Long day."
Josh raises his eyebrows. "You going to bed before two. Historic moment."
Alice tilts her head. "You sure?"
"Yeah. Just drained from the performance."
Alice squeezes my hand.
Josh gives a quiet nod.
They let me go.
I close my bedroom door and lie down.
Stare at the ceiling.
Fail to blink out Samuel's face or hear anything except his voice.
I do not sleep. Not even for a moment.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
Morning arrives like a dull ache instead of a new day. I wake feeling like someone packed my skull with cotton. No rest, no dreams, only darkness stretched thin until the curtains turned grey.
The apartment is silent. Josh apparently refused to go back to his house and decided to stay here for the night, but a couch is all we could offer him. Alice and Josh are both still asleep and thank God for that. I do not have the strength for questions shaped like jokes.
I make coffee the way Grandma taught me. Black and bitter, something meant to wake the dead. It barely wakes me.
I sit by the window, legs pulled in, the cup warming my cold fingers. Outside, the city is already moving. Students rushing, cars honking, a man yelling at someone on Bluetooth. Ordinary noise. Meanwhile I feel like someone unplugged my life from its socket and now I am just sparking.
Samuel's words keep landing like punches.
Mark Bennett is my father too.
I keep waiting for the sentence to rearrange itself into something less destructive. It never does.
I sip the coffee and ignore the shake in my hands.
Dad never talked about his past. Not once. I always assumed he did not want to relive it. Now I wonder if he did not want me to discover it.
I cannot pretend this did not tear something open inside me.
I grab my phone. My thumb hovers over Dad's contact so long that my vision blurs. Calling him now feels like stepping into a fire. Meeting him in person might hurt too, but at least I will see his eyes. I will know if he lies or tells the truth.
I open the travel app. My chest feels tight, but grounded. The decision has already been made. I am only catching up to it.
Holiday bus tickets to Willowbrook. Early morning. Decent price.
I hit Book before I can talk myself out of it.
When the confirmation email arrives, a strange calm settles over me. The kind that comes only after accepting something impossible.
Footsteps behind me. Josh appears, scratching his head, barely awake.
"Dude, why are you up at seven. Are you possessed?"
I force a tired smile. "Couldn't sleep."
He yawns. "You want the last slice of pizza from last night?"
"I'll pass."
He nods, eyes lingering on me in that quiet, observant way he has.
"So… what's the plan for break?"
I keep my eyes on the window.
"I'm going home. To see Dad and Grandma."
Josh does not question it. He just nods, suddenly serious. "Yeah. That sounds good."
He wanders off to find breakfast, leaving me with my cooling coffee and the heavy truth waiting for me in Willowbrook.
I tell myself it is a normal holiday visit. Family stuff. Simple things.
But we both know I am going home for answers.
Answers only my father can give.