Crossing Lines

48. You're home

I felt like I was going to throw up. I had been sitting in the driveway just staring at the house for about twenty minutes already. I hadn't been able to get myself to move yet. I didn't think I was ready to step inside.

It had been four months since I'd seen my parents and it just didn't feel like enough time. I needed more, I needed to be anywhere but here.

I couldn't put it off. If I sat out here any longer my father would notice and that'd only make him mad. I could at least try to keep everything civil. I pulled myself out of my car. I grabbed my suitcase and forced myself to take each step closer to the door.

Each step took me closer and closer. The dread rose higher and higher. By the time I grabbed the door handle and pushed it open I was going through a full panic attack.

The house looked exactly the same. It was like I had never left. A pair of my old shoes were still set neatly by the door. The sight was haunting and I had to tear my eyes away before I passed out.

"Evan is that you?" My moms voice travelled through the house.

"Yeah." I called back trying to keep my voice even.

It didn't take long, I turned the corner towards the kitchen and my moms brown hair was the first thing I saw as she raced towards me.

"Evan! I'm so happy you're home." And then her arms were wrapping around me in a tight hug.

I let my arms hold her against me relaxing into my moms embrace. There wasn't a lot that I missed about this house but the feeling of my mom holding me against her was one of them. I missed her when I wasn't here and sometimes I hated myself for it.

"It's good to see you Ma." I gave her an extra squeeze before stepping out of the hug.

"Go drop your things off in your room and then come down and have some lunch with us." She smiled brightly at me.

Those words were enough to have my stomach dropping.

Us.

He was here. He was right in the other room. I don't know why it surprised me that my father hadn't bothered to come greet me and I didn't think I really wanted him to but still I felt a stinging in my chest. Each time I came home I still had this flicker of hope that maybe things would be different.

It was always the same.

I decided not to waste time as I dropped my suitcase off in my room. The room itself wasn't much, it barely looked like it was mine. I hadn't put much of myself in it and looking around at the bare room just reminded me just how much I hid before high school. Even now I had a hard time finding myself and living authentically but in high school I was so different. I'd been deep in the closet and I didn't think I even thought about what I might have wanted once. Everything I did was based on what I thought would make my father happy. My room was bare because I knew that's what he would want.

I'd been working on not doing everything for my father. A task that was much easier when I wasn't around him. As I walked back to the kitchen I could feel myself slipping back into that person. I was working to fit back into the perfect son mold.

I took a deep breath before stepping in. My stomach dropped as I laid eyes on my father. It was hard to look at him. It was hard to stare into those ice blue eyes that matched my own.

One glance and all the memories of my childhood flooded my mind. The day he found me messing around in my moms makeup drawer, that had been the first time he'd ever laid a hand on me. I was six at the time. Then there was the time he picked me up from one of my friends house and found us napping on the couch together. Apparently we were too close and he brought me home and used my baseball bat to beat me until I passed out.

Years of this and yet I was still standing here in this house. I still showed up knowing the possibilities of what would happen.

"Sit down." My mom gestured to the empty seat across from my father.

"Evan." My fathers rough voice caused me to jump slightly.

"Hi dad." I greeted and slid into the seat.

"I saw you lost your playoff game."

Of course that's what he'd want to talk about. I could feel the disappointment radiating off of him.

"It was a rough game but I'm glad we were able to make it to playoffs."

"Glad." He scoffed. "You stepped out on that field and played a pathetic excuse for football. That isn't something to be proud of."

I shrunk down in my seat. I didn't know why I thought anything would ever be different. I glanced towards my mom watching as she shuffled around the kitchen finishing up lunch.

I was thankful for her. I didn't think I'd survive in this house without her. She'd sat by me through it all. She'd been the one to run her fingers through my hair and relax me from every freak out so I'd finally fall asleep. She was the one that tended to each cut and bruise, held my hand as I muscled through the pain.

"Here, eat up." My mom put a bowl of soup in front of me and then went to serve my father.

"Thanks Ma." I smiled and grabbed the spoon thankful for something to do that wasn't talking to my father.

"Thank you Love, smells good." My father looked at my mother his face softer than I'd ever seen it.

My father wasn't a kind man. He had a temper and usually took out that anger violently. But it was never my mother that got that. He always treated her with care and looked at her with love. Unfortunately he'd never treated me that way.

I didn't know exactly how this break would go but I had a feeling it wasn't going to be good. I was already counting the days down until I could leave and see Jake again.

It hadn't even been long since I'd seen him and I already missed him way too much.