August & Colin | WRU series | book 1
We take risks. We make mistakes. We lie. We love. We hurt. We lose total control.
I took a risk. I paid the price.
I made a mistake. I felt the guilt.
I lied. I lie.
I loved. I try not to.
I hurt. I still do.
...
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It's a quarter past 8. 15 minutes after 8. 15 minutes of silence since my dad came home from work.
Over the past few weeks, their fights have turned into passive-aggressive silence. The house feels eerie. Walking around in a house filled with frustration feels like walking around in a minefield. My body always preparing itself for impact, my mind never at ease. So I've been avoiding being at home and whenever I leave the house I play pretend. When I hang out with Lucie and Brooke, I put a smile on my face and pretend. When I meet Colin at the top of Vesuvius hill, I push my emotions down and don't talk about the thoughts that haunt my mind when I'm alone.
I play pretend because I've discovered that pretending something doesn't exist creates a door inside my mind behind which I can lock away everything I don't want to think about.
So I smile and pretend when I'm not home.
When I am, I lock myself in my room and wait for the mine to explode.
It's been 15 minutes and the house is still silent. Maybe they've waved the white flag. Maybe tonight is an evening like we used to have them when I was 10. A movie playing on the tv, a big bowl of popcorn, and our little family snuggled up on the couch.
I fill my own heart with hope, I poison my mind with dreams of what could be.
I open my door and head downstairs but my feet stop halfway down the staircase when my mother's voice breaks the silence in our house.
"There's a job offer in New York." I sit down on one of the steps. New York? I cross my fingers as I cover my face. I don't want to move again. Please, please, please, don't let us move again. I've just opened my heart to a real friendship. I don't want to give up the sleepovers at Brooke's, the way Lucie's ridiculous jokes make me laugh, or the endless conversations with Colin. I don't want to move away from any of them.
"That's pretty far." It's not pretty far, Dad, it's too far.
"It's not that you've cared before when you accepted job offers." I can imagine the clenched jaws and eyes burning with rage. It's so quiet that I can hear a conversation of a couple walking past our front door. I want to stand up and say something before the ticking of the clock gets overruled by screaming voices. My throat closes. Nothing comes out. Maybe it's because I'm scared to intervene or maybe it's because deep down I know their pause resembles someone who stepped on a mine and is waiting to remove the pressure so that the explosion can swallow us whole. It's too quiet. I'm scared.
"If you want to say something you might as well be completely open about it instead of jabbing me with snarky comments." My father's voice is harsh.
Please stop. Please, please, just stop.
"I've decided to take it, the job." My eyebrows shoot up, and my head snaps in the direction of the kitchen.
No, no, no. I don't want to leave. Don't make us leave again, mom.
