The Darkness within

20

The silence woke him. He sits up abruptly and looks around the room. His breathing is slightly labored and a sweat is evident on his back. His mother must have turned off his fan. Letting out a relieved sigh,he collapses back onto the bed. The girl flashes in his mind. Suddenly his thoughts went back to his nightmare. He had been having the same dream for many nights and he knew he wouldn't be rid of it any time soon. His therapist said it was because of his father's death. How could a dream about a girl standing in the middle of the road be relevant to his father? Oh well, all he knew was that peaceful sleep wasn't possible anymore. It started as one dream, but as the month dragged on the dream started coming again and again and as more of a nightmare. It was the middle of September, every night now he dreamed of a girl with hair that was darker than the night itself. She was always in the middle of a twisting road that never seemed to end. He never saw her face and could only tell how pale she was, like a ghost, but he honestly gave up trying to figure out the dream almost as soon as it started.
He looks over at his nightstand. The happy family portrait is insulting. The flashing red of his alarm clock catches his attention. '3:00 am', he sighs and slaps his hand over his eyes dragging it down his face, making his skin stretch and his irritation visible.
   "Forget it, who needs sleep anyway?" He sarcastically asks the Great Spirit. The covers are aggressively thrown to the other side of the bed. He trudges to the bathroom and splashes cold water over his face. His father's bioluminescent blue eyes rival his own in the mirror. He wasn't sure why this angered him. "You didn't have to leave us you know." He whispers to no one.
"Demien?" A voice asks. He jumps at the sound. His mother stands in the doorway, wrapping her robe tight around her with weary arms. "What are you doing up honey?"
"Kinan." He corrects her shortly. 
"Your father's dead Demien, you don't have to go by his name anymore."
"That's my real name, mother." She sighs in exasperation at this and gives up for now.
"You should get some sleep, uncle will be here early tomorrow."
"I know, you've told me a million times."
"Don't say it in that tone of voice, your uncle is generously taking us in."
"Whatever, I'm going to bed." He looks in the mirror one last time, and for a split second his eyes look dark just like they had been before-he shakes his head. The worn out teenage boy shoves past his overbearing mother. He plops down onto his unforgiving bed, where he was sure the ghost girl would greet him again.

"Junior!!" The deep voice of his uncle penetrates his makeshift sound-proofed door. Kinan groans. Despite the pleasant greeting, the presence of his uncle had always set him off for some reason. And he had arrived so early. Kinan opens his eyes, flinching at the sunlight that seeped through his window. His groggy body slowly brings itself up to a sitting position; he gives a loud uncalled for yawn and then falls back into his bed.
"Demien, don't be like that." His mother orders from the living room, she apparently had heard his groans. She stands next to Kiche, Kinan's uncle.
"It's okay, Linda," Kiche tells her.
"His fathers death has taken a toll on us all."
"Well, it's no excuse. Kinan!" She calls, hoping his Native name might entice him to come outside his dark room. The towel stuffed under his door is pulled away and the door creaks open. He looks so much like his father. Especially since his eyes had changed. She knew she should tell him but perhaps if he didn't know then it would all go away. He just needed to step away from his Native heritage. "Oh good grief Demien, you're a wreck." He ignores this comment just like she ignores his real problems.
"No breakfast?" He asks.
"We'll get to that." Kiche quickly cuts in. "First, you need to help your mother and I load up the truck." Kinan holds back a disgruntled noise and goes to pick up a box. As he passes too close to his uncle he involuntarily shudders.
It's hot outside. Kinan sighs, it's too early to be this hot.
  Oklahoma's so unpredictable. Good thing it's cold in Maine. Kinan thinks. He looks at his mother's small Toyota Corolla as he loads up the box. There is no chain or hitch in sight.
"Hey mom!" He calls.
"Yes Demien?" He resists the urge to correct her.
"Who's driving the car to Kiche's?"
"Oh I am sweetie."
"Well..." he decides quickly."It's kind of a long drive, don't you think I should drive instead?"
"Well I wouldn't want your uncle to be alone."
"You could ride with him."
"Are you sure sweetheart?"
"You're so young." Kiche adds.
"Mom, I drove dad up to uncle's before. I think I'll be fine." Kinan, under no circumstances, wanted to be left alone with his uncle.
"If you insist honey, if you need anything on the way you can call me."
"Okay mom, I'll call." She smiles and he smiles back at her. But not for the same reason. He never knew what it was about his uncle but the feeling had always been the same. He didn't want to be alone with him. Kiche sighs and picks up another box. Kinan helps his mother load some stuff, they have half the house done in an hour.
"I'll get this last box mom." He offered and took it to the old truck. When he turned around, Kiche stood behind him.
"Gosh Kinan, when did your eyes get that blue? I thought you were your father for a second." Kinan rolls his eyes at this. His uncle had already noticed the eye change at the funeral.
"Yeah well my father is dead. Dead, okay? Which means he's not coming back." His mother holds an appalled look on her face.
"Kinan!"
"What?" He snaps. "It's true so why can't I say it?"
"Kinan don't talk to your mother like that." At this, Kinan's unstable temper explodes.
"You're not my dad so stop acting like it. My dad is dead!" They stare at the breaking boy in shocked silence. He stomps off to his room and slams the door behind him. Once inside his safe room, he lets out a infuriated yell and knocks over the mocking family portrait. Frustrated and unable to do anything, he throws himself onto his bed. He grips his pillow tightly and wishes he was in the gym so he could have a punching bag. There's nothing here he can be angry with though. Kinan sits up and looks down at the family portrait, it's frame is slightly bent and the glass is cracked. He gives a despondent sigh and picks the photo up, a heavy weight on his heart. Something wet drips onto the portrait and Kinan then realizes his eyes are welling with tears, ready to pour. His closes his eyes, hard. Like trying to leave a bad dream. The tears spill over because of this and his body shudders. Holding his breath, he can feel it in the pit of him, a dark empty hole. Beckoning him to cry as if it would change a single thing. His eyes open and focus despite the never ceasing water. He takes the picture out of its frame and slowly runs his thumb over the hot tears drowning his Dad's face.
"Why did you leave me Azhe'e?" He whispers. "You were the only one who understood, the only one who even tried." He sniffs and uses his sleeve as a tissue. He felt weak as he used the Navajo word for his father that he used to call out when he was a child. "Azhe'e, why?" he asks again, desperate for an answer. "Why did you leave me alone?!!" He shouts to the sky. There is no answer. Just like it had been for the past three weeks. Silent.
He falls to his knees at his bedside. Begging. For a sound, a sign of any sort. Anything to break that merciless silence. No aid comes to his lonely side. Too soon, heartbreak turns to an angry burning. His teeth grind against each other as he clenches his fists. His thoughts are racing. He was much better at controlling himself now but he had, had enough. His nails bite into his own flesh. Thinking about how much better it would have been for her to have died instead. He can't contain his rage anymore. Being weak is too much of a burden. His fist flies through the wall.