Wingless, book 1 of Wingless Series

Empty and full

When I was little I never felt alive. I would sit upside down just to feel the blood rush to my head. I didn't know how to explain that I couldn't feel anything. The concept of life was lost on me. I was confused. I was afraid of death.

And still to this day I don't know why I was so afraid so early in life.

Vanessa told me about her father when we were kids. He wasn't around much and her mother was married to somebody else. She never knew her real dad. And when he came around and promised to take her away she was scared of him. She was afraid.

We all are afraid of something.

My fear in life is simple. I'm afraid I will die before I live. I'm afraid that everything I was told about life is wrong and when I die I'll be out of chances to do anything about it.

I'm afraid that there is no afterlife. That I will disappear and no longer mean anything to anyone.

Sometimes I'm so afraid I can't breathe. And sometimes I am afraid to do what I am meant to do in life for fear that will be the end of me. It makes sense.

But that is not how it works. We all end up doing what we are meant to do even if we aren't trying. Life is a crazy ride.

And I am going to do something I said I wouldn't. I am going to talk to my family. I am going to demand they accept my choices and be happy for me.

Life is short and I refuse to feel like I didn't give them a chance. No matter how much I don't like my family I have to try.

Evan drives me home. And I'm ready. I know it's the best thing for me to do.

"Alright, I'll give you a call when I'm ready." I unbuckle my seatbelt.

"And I'll be here in an instant," he says and he kisses me, one hand lingering against my face before I get out. I know he is here for me no matter what I do.

He's a bad ass most days, he intimidates just about everyone he meets but he's my bad ass.

Every time I walk up the steps of my house I remember. It's funny how a simple set of steps can trigger so much.

Like the times my parent's fought, and I would watch out the window as my dad walked down them promising he would never come back again. But he always did.

Or the time Marcus and I sat outside making paper airplanes. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't make mine fly like his did. And he would laugh at how mad I would get.

I remember when my entire family ran down the steps to the hospital to be by Marcus side before he died. We never thought it was going to be the last day.

I walk up the steps of memories into my childhood home. The walls have always been full of pictures, pictures of every part of our lives, all the holidays, all the birthdays.

My favorite picture is the one by the stairs. It's a picture of all of us kids. We were all so little, piled on the sofa, smiling at the camera. We were happy because we were young and full of life. Somehow life got away and Marcus was the only one struggling to hold onto it.

"That was a good one," my dad says, standing next to me.

"Yeah, it was." I smile.

He hugs me and it's enough to make me emotional. I already am feeling emotional and when my dad wraps his arms around me it makes it even worse.

"I'm glad you're home," he says, letting go.

"I'm glad too," I agree.

We lock eyes for what seems like an eternity, and neither of us says a word. It's the same grin hiding behind slight wrinkles. And no matter how old he gets his eyes remain brilliant. Marcus had the same kind of eyes.