Lucid

CHAPTER 6 - UNDENIABLY ATTRACTIVE

A fresh start—that's the idea. Forget the past, bury the scars, and start over. Erase every hard-won lesson and every battle he fought alone. Just hit the reset button and seize control.

That's how they do things these days. The father, full of regrets, hopes he can fix what he himself broke. And the mother... her motives run even darker.

But poorly built walls crumble fast. With every lie, every hidden truth, he loses another piece of himself, forced to live in their shadow. How much longer can he hold on?

He just needs to keep going.

And so do you.

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The room was cold, void of heat or warmth, as though it absorbed every bit of colour and life while I slept. The dream I'd woken from lingered—a memory without meaning or place, a fragment that slipped through my fingers the moment my eyes opened.

Thick clouds blanketed the sky, casting everything in washed-out grey. The curtains trembled in the wind, a thin, restless shiver. This world, stripped of colour, is what life really is. Black, white, and grey. Cold and cruel. There's no place here for joy or hope, only lies pretending there is.

If that makes me pessimistic, I don't care. I'm awake in the world as it is.

There was no knock on the door, no soft reminder that there were two loving parents grateful that their son somehow survived whatever it was that nearly ended him. If only he could remember what had happened.

I dragged myself from bed. No stale smell waiting for me today—maybe even that last remnant of childhood had left me.

The dim light hurt my eyes as I closed the window and drew the curtains. On my dresser, I noticed a small stack of clothes, neatly folded: the black outfit I wore when I left the hospital. No surprise. Guess that's why they knocked last night.

Too tired to care, I pulled the clothes on. No shower, no glance at the mirror. My reflection would just remind me of the things I'd rather forget.

In a half-conscious routine, I downed my pills and grabbed a few extra blues and reds for later. If one dose numbs things, why not two? I slipped the extras into my bag, thinking they'd help me get through the day. A second dose might even make Clark bearable.

I didn't bother with deodorant, either. The faint scent of whatever Mom used to wash the clothes would have to be enough for today.

Hand on the doorknob, I froze, a strange comfort surfacing in my mind from somewhere I couldn't quite place.

Ethan, you know everything is going to be okay.

***

The ground floor felt like a tomb, hollow and filled with ghosts. Cold air drifted through the hall, and I swear the rooms could freeze a cup of water in seconds.

Mom sat in the living room, eyes glued to her phone or some endless task, not sparing me a glance. The air between us felt as cold as the walls. 'Goodbye' and 'I love you' might as well be written on some sign outside, out of view.

In the kitchen, Dad was already waiting, his eyes meeting mine for a moment. He gave a quick nod, his look a silent, "We should go."

Maybe I should care that Mom was barely paying attention. But honestly? I didn't feel much of anything. Just an emptiness that clung to everything, a quiet acceptance of another day in this place that felt so foreign.