Revive (Book Two)

Chapter 29: Closet

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Chapter 29: closet

I didn't go to our temporary home, back to our hotel where she anxiously waited for me. I had fallen asleep in the cemetery for only a couple of hours, but it was enough for the sun to go down and the moon to come out. When I did awaken, the headache of withdrawals struck hard and there I was again, snorting up relief and continuing on like the lost soul I was.

I only read the text once, but knew the seriousness behind it.

Your fathers in the hospital.

But I didn't go back to her worry, instead I stumbled my way right out of the cemetery and swayed down the dark, wet road before me. My black boots were wet but it didn't bother me, seeing as I practically just risen from a grave in the rain not long ago. I was exhausted but there was no way I'd be able to sleep, seeing as my nose was riddled in powder and my mind was on a mission.

I had no intentions on where I was going - no set plan. It surprised me that I ended up back in my neighborhood, face to face with the property that belonged to a monster. It looked so much different at dark. It looked almost scarier - eerier. It was as if the daylight hid away most of the demons and monsters that lied within, but soon as the moon rose, the creatures emerged with it, screaming.

I shifted my cylinder block foot forward and shuffled past the long, yellow, unkept grass. I strode past the crushed beer cans that seemed to accumulate within the hours I was absent. Various cigarette butts that were never picked up, some forever being glued to the ground were stomped on by my heavy pattern. And there I was, right in front of the door that belonged to a once white house, now tinted grey from dirt.

I should've been surprised that my bedroom window was never repaired after having it smashed in. He never fixed it, only covering it up with duct tape. It was pathetic and completely in his nature.

My hand reached the doorknob and I was instantly struck with a memory of my young self, counting to ten multiple times over to gain the courage to enter the doors.

I hadn't even noticed that I still had the habit, even in my adult life to count to ten before I stepped inside.

Ten.

Blowing out, I pushed my hand on the door and listened to it creak open in the dark house. I could see the demons clearly, scurrying in the rooms of the house, chased by other monsters. It was petrifying, bouts of PTSD clouding my brain and my vision but I had to remind myself that I was okay. It was just a memory.

Nobody is home.

Nobody but me.

I was no longer distracted and on high alert by my father in front of me. I allowed my vision to really soak up the space I was surrounded by, and really take it in. The air inside was thick from smoking cigarettes and various drugs. It felt as if I could get a headrush just by standing here, which would excite me more than frighten me.

The smell of broken bottles of booze violated my nostrils while the faint smell of my father's cologne instantly made me want to vomit up acid. I was surprised he still wore it at all, but there were a few moments in his day-to-day life that he'd have to mask his filth.

I walked across the creaking floor boards and made my way to the couch, silently observing the cigarette burn marks on the cushion but it wasn't what caught my attention. What caught my attention was the drugs on the coffee table, screaming my name.