Listen, Obey

30. Thirtieth Lesson

The afternoon passed by in awkward silence. Clearly, Matthews granted me the space I had asked for, but the distance between us grew too vast and too deep. I wanted to reach out and close the gap, but fear stopped me.

Tilia and I sat on the floor among multi-colored papers and piles of crayons when Matthews cleared his throat behind us.

"I'm leaving."

Simple words. Expected words. Did that make them easier to bear? Not at all.

"See you in the morning," I replied, not looking in his direction. I had nothing further to say.

"Bye, Daddy," Tilia chirped before she continued with her coloring, not straying from her task even for a second.

"Be nice to Ethan, sweetheart."

"Okay." She sounded carefree, like everything was as it should be in her world, like nothing was out of place. I envied her.

He hovered in the doorway, and each second passing made it harder and harder to breathe. I wanted him. I craved him, and he stood so close yet so very far away the same time. The crayon between my fingers failed to move. I simply held it above the paper, pausing until my world would start anew—a momentary void in time.

He left, swept away into the night. I knew where he was going, I knew what he would be doing. Even so, nothing could have prepared me for the feelings emptying my chest. I thought I would feel relief when he was gone from the house, but it was the other way around. There was no relief to be had.

"Ethan, this horsey wants to be orange!"

I shook my head and returned to the scene before me. Tilia pointed at a horse, half covered in pink. She must have changed her mind. If only it were that easy for me. Two months. Matthews with Vidar. What had I been thinking? I had spoiled every chance to be together with him ever again. According to plan, yes, but who formulated that plan? It was the Ethan who hid from everything, who didn't dare to break away from the shell that held me safe and imprisoned at the same time.

Tilia fell asleep in front of the TV hours later, and my distraction was gone. Left on my own, I had time to imagine what Matthews and Vidar were up to. The scenes played in front of my eyes—brief flashes of events that my wrecked mind conjured on its own. I tasted bile in my mouth, and no matter how much I struggled against the onslaught of images, they became more vivid with each one. It seemed as if I could smell them, hear them. The creaking leather, bodies moving together in a measured rhythm. It was too much.

Think about something else, I told myself, holding my shaking hands in front of my eyes as useless shields. I had to focus on something—something I cared about, or someone.

Jace.

I saw Jace's angular features, his hollow cheeks and dull eyes. His pupils were so dilated that his brown eyes appeared black as ink. It wasn't the Jace I wanted to remember. We also shared early memories from a period when Jace's parents didn't mind that I was around. They knew I had a rough time at home, and they opened their arms and their home for me. During those years, I almost felt like I was a part of their family. However, when Jace's grades started slipping, they blamed me and that was it. No longer welcome, I spent time around town instead. Their ideas about the problem-child became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Did I ruin Jace's life? Not at first, but certainly later on. I regretted ever letting him take part in the destructive life I built for myself. But, who ruined my life? Was it wrong of me to blame the parents who never loved me? The brother who beat me? Maybe I should blame no one but myself, but the loneliness drove me toward the darker alleys. I was lonely then, more lonely than now, and back then, I still believed in fairy tales. I believed in a better world, a better future. I believed that if I only escaped for a while, all my troubles would go away.

That escape turned into my prison.

I was a hunted man—a haunted man. Sam would have my hide when I showed up in town, but for some reason, I wasn't afraid of him anymore. There was little left to lose.

Early the following morning, I trudged into the kitchen to prepare another round of breakfast. Looking out the window, I saw a car on the driveway. Even from where I stood, I could see the stern expression laced across Matthews features. He didn't look happy at all. Forgetting about the supposed distance between us, I rushed out on the porch, disregarding the cold even though it burned my bare feet.

Matthews shut the car door and paused, his eyes set on my shivering form. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"I can ask the same."

He walked up the stairs, closing the distance between us. "You shouldn't be out without clothes."

Fair enough. However, his expression remained as cold as I felt. I wasn't finished questioning him, even if I had no right. "Why so glum?"

Matthews reached behind me to open the door, walking inside. I followed, trying to decipher what he wasn't telling me.

"I'm trying to solve our situation, but so far I'm not doing a very good job."

"I don't want you to solve it," I lied. Time, I needed time, that's what I decided yesterday. I backed away, chastising myself for being stupid about our relationship again.

"Maybe you don't want to work this out, but I certainly want to." Matthews shrugged out of his coat and walked into the kitchen.

Tilia came bounding down the stairs. "Daddy, you're back!"

Matthews smiled. "At least someone is happy to see me," he said, and I could tell he was sulking. I almost felt bad until I remembered where he had spent the night. Vidar's body kept him warm while I took care of his child. Great arrangement.

This weekend would be absolute hell, I concluded. A sudden urge to get out of there hit me with full force. "I'm going into town if you don't need me for a while."

Matthews' back stiffened. "I'll drive you."

I thought he would put up some kind of resistance, and was almost unhappy with how easily he gave in. "Thank you."

"Can I ask what you'll be doing?"

I couldn't determine if he said it because he wanted to be in control, or if he said it because he honestly cared. Maybe it was a bit of both.

"I'm going to look for a job, if you must know."

"You know I can give you a job at the club, right? Or you can continue to look after Tilia."

"Don't think that's a good idea. I need independence." And I need to get away from you and Vidar, I wanted to add.

Matthews sighed. He was reluctant to let me go, I knew that, but it was for his benefit even if he didn't understand it yet.

"I guess independence is a good idea. I'll help you look for something. Let's just eat breakfast first."

"I've already eaten," I lied, not keen on sitting down with them at the table.

"You're still a terrible liar, Ethan."

"Well then. I'm not hungry. Go ahead and eat. I'll be upstairs."

"Please eat with us?" Matthews said, and I found it very hard to escape from the earnest tone in those words. But no, it was too much. Whenever I looked at him, I saw Vidar clinging to his side or sitting on his knees at Matthews feet. I couldn't do it.

I left without a word. 

A/N I'm trying to get the chapters out, but again, I'm not getting very far. They seem adamant on keeping me in real-time with them, moving slooooowly. I have plans for the next chapter though. I wanted to show some of Ethan's history in this chapter. He's had a sad past. Poor Ethan! 

Also, did you know I've recorded a soundtrack for this story? Go listen to it :) 

https://soundcloud.com/avylinn/listen    (also in the external link)