Silence | Book 2

2-9: The Return

Tristan quietly took his suitcase from the trunk of his father's car. The relatively new and clean white Audi idling was quite out of place beside gardenless and small houses; but his father wouldn't stay for longer than necessary. Once he had taken his suitcase out, his father came up to him for an one-armed yet strong hug.

"Hey... listen, if she does anything uncalled for,- or maybe you don't feel like it, I can pick you up."

"I know dad," he stammered as he was squeezed tightly. "You already told me." Even though he tried to reassure his father and weasel his way out, it didn't seem to work.

"You don't have to sit there and take it because you don't want conflict. Trust me, it doesn't work."

"Dad, I'm a grown man. I think I can handle me own mum." Since reassuring didn't work, he tried to jest his way out of the increasingly awkward situation. Yet his father had more to say.

"Of course, but... just in case. All I'm saying is you have options." The seriousness with which his father addressed the situation made him uncomfortable, as he knew well enough why. Still he knew if he gave in to the nagging anxiety that raked the back of his stomach and clambered across his spine he'd undeniably panic. So instead he suppressed it and told himself it would be fine – that he had to for Anya.

"Okay... thank you dad." Instead of stubbornly denying, he nodded and smiled gratefully. His father smiled back, and then let go.

"Alright, it was good seeing you again."

"You too dad." He was graced with two heavy pats on his shoulder, causing his smile to widen.

"If you come over again during spring, we can hopefully go somewhere when the weather is good."

"I'd like that." The prospect of that made him grin, looking forward to it.

"But I won't hold you up any longer, I'll see you next time." His father gave him one last pat and then took a step back and away towards the driver side of the car.

"Mhm," He nodded and stepped away further onto the pavement as well, taking the handle of his suitcase. "See you next time."

As his father entered the car, they shared a wave and a smile. He watched while he drove away, and silence befell the street again. Without company there to distract him, he became more aware of everything around him: of the wet chill that hung between the buildings, and the lights that quietly blinked to cheer up some of the homes, while other more decrepit ones remained dark and unkempt. There was the distinct, somewhat damp scent of cold and stone, carried forth by a hazy mist. It weighed heavy, silencing his every footstep and the sound of the suitcase dragged over uneven tiles, as if it wanted to isolate him.

After a short walk, he arrived in front of the right house. It was just the same as he remembered; small and barely kept together. Even though the windows had been repaired, the paint on the frame and the door had started to flake and he could see new cracks between the bricks. It was a familiar kind of dishevelled. Although his heart lifted slightly at the sight of what he would call home, it was tethered down by the heavy chains of knowing that he had to do so for years.

Still contemplating whether he was glad to be there or not, he quietly walked up to the three tall steps that gave access to the scuffed front door. There was a doorbell, but the button had fallen off. He lifted his hand and knocked thrice, which caused the single pane glass to rattle.

Inside he heard someone stumble about, and mumble something angrily. Through the glass, he saw the light turn on in the hallway, while a shape made its way closer. Several heavy locks were unbolted and undone, and then suddenly the door swung open wide. Inside stood his mother, the last of a nearly finished cigarette in her hand.