Is it normal to think about the moment you knew something wasn't right with you? If not, there really is something wrong with me. With my dad in the house, it's hard not to think about all the moments in my childhood that truly fucked me up.
From the day I realized that my mother never should have had a kid. I was five and she locked me in a closet in fear that I'd tell my dad about catching her with the neighbor. She kept me there for two days, only opening the door to give me food and water three times a day. That was also when I realized my dad wasn't meant to have a kid either; he didn't even notice my absence.
Eventually I decided that I wasn't meant to be in their lives. I might have realized it sooner, but I was a kid and didn't know any better. I didn't understand that parents who loved their children wouldn't treat them the way my parents did.
The day I decided I needed better, I'd asked my mother to replace the chain on my bicycle because it had rusted after she made me leave it out in the rain. She backhanded me, told me that I was a waste of space and that I needed to get out of her face. So I did.
I packed a bag and walked out, listening to her yelling at me. I was eight, had no idea where I was going but knew that I needed to. I started walking and didn't stop until I was outside of city limits. It took my aunt three days to find me, freezing my ass off on the side of the road.
Aunt Maggie saved my life.
I don't know what reaction my dad expected from me. He shouldn't expect me to be happy for him. And the nerve on him to think I would so easily agree to live with him and his perfect wife. If I left home at eight, why in the hell would I return at eighteen?
If I'm honest, I have nothing against Julie. I've seen her less than a handful of times in my life, but she's always been nice to me. When she's around, my dad's nice enough. He doesn't shout or make stupid comments about how useless I am, and he certainly doesn't start fights. However, that doesn't mean I give a single shit about their new baby.
I may be a horrible person for feeling the way I do, but I don't really care. Julie should do herself a favor and get as far away from him as quickly as possible. He's the same person he's always been and thinking he's going to change because he's having another kid is a delusion. She should pray to God that this kid doesn't experience the same Xavier Caldwell I did.
Something hard hits me in the back of the head, snapping me back to reality. The smell of burnt toast assaults my nostrils. Fuck. Again. I turn around and find Kieran's tube of lip gloss on the floor.
She stands in the entryway, her hands planted on her hips and a scowl on her face.
"What?" I ask, my irritation shining through.
Her brow furrows. "Change your tone. Now." She shakes her head. "I didn't do anything to you,"
I take a breath. "I'm sorry. Did you need something?"
"First, I need you to stop burning the toast. People are going to start complaining," she says.
I move to the stove and move the pan, attempting to salvaged what I already fucked up. "I'll fix it," I tell her. "Give me a few minutes, please,"
"Lucas,"
"Yeah, it'll be ready soon,"
"Lucas,"
Tossing the burned toast in the trash can, I turn around to face her. "Yes, Kieran?"
"What's wrong?" she asks, brows furrowed.
"Nothing,"
"Lucas, come on. Is this about what we talked about earlier?"
I shake my head. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just a little distracted,"
She hesitates. "Okay. I'll be back in a few minutes,"
And now I feel like punching a hole in something.
After my shift, I head home. The mistake only hits me when I make it to our street. My dad's car is in the driveway and Aunt Maggie isn't going to be home for a few more hours.
Pulling out my phone, I send Kieran a message on Instagram, asking if she's busy. We decided to let bygones be bygones, and my plan is to get our friendship back to what it used to be, especially since it was my fault it went south in the first place.
She responds almost immediately.
Kieran: not really. what's up?
Me: wanna get ice cream?
Kieran: are you buying?
Me: yes
Kieran: who am I to turn down free ice cream…I'll be out in a minute.
I hop off the bike and just as I remove my helmet, she walks out of her house and across the lawn. Her hair is in a ponytail, but she pulls off the hair tie as she makes her way over.
"One helmet?" she asks, coming to a stop next to me.
Shit. I hadn't thought of that.
"You'll use it,"
"And you're going to ride without a helmet?"
I nod.
She shakes her head. "That's not safe,"
"It's the same as me riding a bicycle without a helmet,"
"Except this isn't a bicycle,"
"You're right, but I don't have the energy to deal with my dad right now,"
She studies my face, getting a read on what I'm feeling. She was always very good at knowing exactly how I felt by just looking at my face.
"Okay," she says with a shrug.
I lift the helmet over her head and she allows me to put it on for her. I push her hair over her shoulders and hold out my hand. She looks between my hand and my face, her furrowed brows accompanying a scowl.
"Your hand, Kieran," I prompt.
The crease on her forehead deepens. "Why do you want my hand?" she asks me seriously.
I cock my head. "To help you onto the bike, dumbass,"
Rolling her eyes, she mutters, "You're the dumbass." But she places her hand in mine, the contact sending shivers down my spine.
Once she's on the back of the bike, I get on. Her hands go to my shoulders, as though she hasn't ridden with me more than once and actually thinks that will keep her from falling off the thing.