✓ BECAUSE WE WERE YOUNG | NIKI

33 - When Walls Crumble

"You should eat something," My father's voice snaps me out of my stance as I lie in my bed, staring at the window as if willing the sun to rise on a different reality. The memory of Niki's tear-filled eyes flickers behind my eyelids and I close my eyes in an attempt to shut out the sting of fresh tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

Shame burns in my throat. Pushing him away was the only way I could protect him, the only way to shield him from the inevitable pain. But the hollowness in my chest speaks volumes of the cost of that protection.

Dad places a tray on the bedside table, the clatter a harsh intrusion on the silence. His eyes, usually cold and distant, hold a flicker of something resembling concern. "The doctor said it's important to keep your strength up," He mutters, his voice gruff.

"For what?" Is all I can manage to rasp out, the question tumbling out in a ragged whisper. The silence that follows isn't thick or uncomfortable, the truth is already hanging between us like a specter. The future is a void, an abyss that I am teetering on the edge of, and no amount of nourishment will pull me back from it.

"For a miracle," He says finally, the word sounding foreign on his lips. "The doctors are searching for a donor, but..." his voice trails off, and I know he doesn't need to finish the sentence. Hundreds of people are waiting for a donor and who are we to wish for someone else's demise just for a possibility that seems impossible? Who are we to be greedy for something the world had already deemed unattainable? "If not for that, then for the time we have left." 

My gaze darts to the way he runs his fingers through his graying hair, letting a sigh that feels like he's been holding his breath for an eternity escape his lips. The lines on his face seem deeper, more pronounced, and for the first time in days, I see him as an anxious parent who's watching his child wither. I remember his threat and I remember how my heart shattered into pieces when he said I couldn't meet my friends anymore, but why don't I hate him? Why do I feel a strange tendril of understanding unfurl in my chest?

"Thank you," His eyes soften and he sits down next to me, his impassable walls now feeling like rickety fences we might just be able to climb over. "I'm afraid your friend's case is starting to gain attention," My father says after a few seconds of silence, making me close my eyes and suck in a sharp breath. The news feels like a punch to the gut. "A friend of mine is a police officer and he asked me about your Jake. It seems he's on the run and that makes him the first suspect in the murder. The news hasn't broken yet, but it's only a matter of time."

"Why are you telling me this? You said I have nothing to do with them anymore." My voice wavers, the pain of his previous words still fresh.

"I know what I said," He admits quietly. "I'm trying to protect you, Y/N. Your friends are going to be interrogated by the police soon and I don't want you to go through that—"

"Why? Because I have nothing to do with it? I was running away with them. Hell, I even lied to the police when they asked if we knew anything about Jake," I throw my hands in the air out of frustration, the lump in my throat growing bigger. "If there's anyone who needs to be interrogated, it's me. Did you see the hair curler that monster used to burn Jake with? Did you watch him hold Jake by the collar and call him names one would never say to another human being? I was there, Dad. I saw everything." My voice trembles with anger and despair. The memories of that day are seared into my mind, and the pain of witnessing Jake's suffering feels like a fresh wound every time I recall it.

My father looks stricken, the color draining from his face. "I'm trying to keep you safe. This whole ordeal has taken a toll on you, and the last thing you need is the stress of a police investigation—"

"Do you think Jake's mother wouldn't want to keep her child safe?" I whisper, the anger replaced by a helpless frustration. "Do you think her heart wasn't ripped apart every time she saw that monster hurt him? Burn him? Do you think your fear of my impending demise is superior to Jake's fear of his mother being killed in front of his eyes?" The last words tumble in a rush and I can see their impact on my father. I can see the way they wrap around his throat and squeeze the air from his lungs. Maybe I'd gone too far. Or maybe this is exactly what he needed to hear. "Do you think my pain is different from his? You're asking me to be strong, to wait for a miracle but Jake knew there was no miracle. He couldn't wait. He had to run, to escape the hell he was living in. And I will never blame him for that."

The room falls into a profound silence, the weight of my words hanging between us like an uninvited ghost. My father's face is ashen, his eyes searching mine for something he can't seem to find. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, struggling to process everything I've said. But he can't. Not when every raw syllable I've uttered is a shard of truth he can no longer ignore. And the man before me, usually a stoic pillar of strength, looks utterly broken.

"Please," I plead when silence becomes too deafening. "Let me do one last good thing in this life." 

His shoulders slump, and he looks away as if trying to hide the tears welling in his eyes. But he doesn't say a thing. God, he doesn't say a thing, and the next day, when I step outside the police station, all he does is give me a hug so tight it steals the breath from my lungs. After endless minutes of answering questions that left me feeling half, my father cradles my broken wings in his arms. "You're stronger than I've ever thought," He whispers and for the first time in my life, I feel a flicker of hope, the first in what feels like an eternity. Maybe this hug means forgiveness, or at least understanding.

"Y/N," The sound of my name being called and the familiar voice makes my heart beat a little faster. I turn around to find her standing there, clutching her bag so tight it betrays the smile she gives me. Before I get to bow politely at her, she lowers herself and dips into a deep bow, showing respect that feels as heavy as guilt in my chest. She doesn't say anything, just lingers in that bow, her hair falling forward to shield her face. "Thank you."

I watch Jake's mother straighten her and all I do is walk to her, wrap my arms around her and feel her crumbling like a sandcastle beneath the tide. Her sobs are quiet but they shake her entire frame, and I hold on tighter, wishing somehow my strength could transfer to her. We stand there, two grieving souls finding comfort in each other's presence, and my father watches us, perhaps learning, for the first time, what vulnerability truly looks like. What it truly means to hold someone up when they're at their lowest.

After a moment that stretches into eternity, Jake's mother pulls back slightly, her breathing ragged but more steady. She looks into my eyes with a gratitude that words can't express. "I'm sorry about what's happening with Jake. If I could do more—"

"You've already done what no one is brave enough to do," She interrupts me, her voice trembling with emotion. "I didn't understand why Jake was so happy to have you as a friend. At nights, when the two of us couldn't sleep, he'd talk about you. The girl who makes him believe in a better tomorrow. The girl who reminded him of his own strength when he felt he had none left," Her voice catches, and she takes a deep breath before continuing, her words now a quiet confession. "I used to envy that. To envy you. Because I couldn't give him what you did. I couldn't bring him that kind of hope."

I swallow hard, trying to find the right response amidst the lump in my throat. "Jake means a lot to me too," I manage to say, my voice barely above a whisper. "He was... he is..." I falter, struggling to articulate the ache in my chest.

"You gave him something I couldn't," Tears well up in her eyes and she reaches out, gently squeezing my hands, offering what little comfort she can amidst our shared pain. "And for that, I'm forever grateful."