amity // phan

eighteen.

-phil-

The entire drive home, my dad was dead quiet.

It was almost funny– I knew he was pissed off and everything, but I also knew that I wouldn't get in trouble.

Because he couldn't say shit to me.

He couldn't say shit about how I was stupid or irresponsible

I was him, after all.

Just a younger version, with darker hair and brighter eyes. We both had that same dry, empty feeling inside. Like dead grass in late August. And we both looked for things– for people– to fill up all the cracks.

When I ripped Dan's locker off its hinges, it was because nobody else seemed to care. And when he lost his job, it was because he was standing up for a coworker.

But it was also so people would look at us, and think that we were more than just two fucked up guys.

So that maybe, one day, one of those assholes from school would be having dinner with their family. And they'd be eating their dessert, and talking about their day at work, and they'd suddenly remember my name and what I did for Dan. And then they'd smile, and they'd speak well of me to their family.

Like somehow, the memory of me could fix all the stupid fucked up things I'd done.

And even if people only remembered the stupid fucked up things– at least I was being remembered.

It was then that I understood: my dad and I were too in love with burning up to be destined for anything other than loneliness.

-

We were sitting across from each other at our shitty living room table, eating leftover pizza he'd found in the back of the fridge.

"Hey," he said, finally.

"What?"

He screwed up his face a bit, and rake his hands through his hair. "You know that– you know you shouldn't do these things, right?"

"I know."

"It won't get you anywhere. Pissing people off for the hell of it, it doesn't pay–"

"I know, Dad," I almost shouted.

And we became quiet again. When he looked at me, he saw a mirror. The problem was, he didn't recognise the reflection. And he didn't remember how to talk to me. "I know that she took a lot out of us when she left," he said.

I looked at him, and my eyes hardened. "You take a lot out of me now."

He stared at me. There was a pause, and then his voice got soft and raw.

"You know that I love you, right?"

I shrugged, and he mumbled something about going to get some air.

And I just stared at him, and watched as he headed for the door. He tripped over the carpet, swore, and grabbed his jacket. And after he was gone, I kind of noticed how bad things were for the first time.

-

I didn't move a muscle from my spot at the kitchen table all night.

He didn't even look my way when he came back in.

After he was asleep, I went upstairs and I called my mom, even though she'd stopped calling months ago.

I told her about how he'd lost his job and how we didn't have hot water and how I'd been suspended and how he didn't care because he was low again. And I told her about how I heard him pacing at three in the morning every night, and how I always stayed up with him because I was too worried to shut my eyes, because what if he did something.

And I made her promise that she'd do something this time.

Then, I grabbed the bag I packed 4 months ago. And I grabbed all the money I had stashed in my closet. And then I went out to my car, and I stuffed the trunk full of books and everything I could think to pack.

And I turned the speakers up and blasted music so loud I couldn't think.

And I drove. God, I drove.

I almost wished that I'd left some kind of note behind– asking if I'd ever actually done anything wrong, or if I'd gotten in the way of him and his perfect life.

I drove until my vision was blurring and running, running away from me.

- - -

an//

so! this marks the beginning of me trying to update every Saturday! wish me luck!

and dw normal chapters will be longer than this.

soso! thoughts? opinions? worries? favourite colours?

ily a lot.