Author Games: Empty Night

Quarterfinals: Ozias Alva

Anger is by definition, one of the oldest emotions ever recorded. Sure, everyone likes to talk about love and happiness and how life is inherently good— but maybe it's not. Maybe, if they did their research, they'd know that. The word dates back to the Norse, where angr meant "grief" and angra meant "vex". That's not where the emotion begins, though. Since before history, before the logical procession of time, there has been anger. It's a wicked bitterness planted in all of us. Growing through our veins like vines, blooming in foul-scented flowers that burst through our pores, dying our skin red with the blood their thorns free. Anger is— it's natural, isn't it? It's a part of life.

So why does it always feel so wrong?

There was nowhere for us to go except back to the apartment, where mom was. It wasn't a good hiding place, but neither of us were eager to leave her alone and wounded when the fae were hunting us down. I mean, what kind of dick move would that be? She would have no idea what was going on and the first thing they'd do would be interrogate her like she did.

Adam and I hadn't spoken since we left. I must have trampled at least ten plants in that place when we made our escape, and it only occurred to me later that it probably didn't help them consider my innocence any. There was this increasingly high level of tension between the two of us as we made our way into the apartment. It had been building the whole way back, bubbling near the surface every time we hit a wrong turn or were nearly caught by some scouting eyes.

But as soon as the door was closed and locked behind us, and my feet had touched the gritty grey carpet that probably hadn't seen a vacuum since the 80's, that all changed. I couldn't even reach the light switch. "One thing, Oz," he snapped. "I asked you for one thing!" Adam's voice was rising, taking a step towards me for every step I took back. "Stay by me! Don't touch anything!" Blood boiled in my veins, teeth grinding into my tongue as he kept talking. It's not fair. My fingers curled into fists shoved deep in the pockets of my jacket. It wasn't my fault. "How hard is that to follow? How hard?"

"I didn't touch it!" I shouted back, swallowing back the taste of blood. But the words didn't matter. No matter how many times I said them, nobody believed me. I mean, why would they? Why would anyone believe a single word that I said, it wasn't like I was entirely incapable of lying or anything as stupid as that.

Adam yanked his hand through his hair, cheeks flushed red with anger but unable to get another word out before the lights flickered on from behind us. Mom stood in the doorway to the living room, eyes squinted and grey hair tousled as if she had just woken up from a fitful sleep. "What's going on?" she asked, taking a small step forward as she glanced between the two of us.

I tried to cut in, to at least say something before everyone in the room turned against me, but it was no use. "Your son got every goddamn fae in this country out for our blood," Adam spit, gesturing towards me with his hand open, "that's what happened, Brandy."

Mom's eyes narrowed, sliding over to me as she folded her arms across her chest. "Oz?" I'd never hated the sound of my own name as much as I did right then. Any hope I had of getting through to them seemed to sink through my chest and into the deepest, coldest pit of my stomach. She's siding with him. I could hear it in her voice, in the tense, disappointed sound of each syllable as she spoke it.

"It could have been a lead," I stressed, trying to salvage the situation at least slightly.

All my efforts did was piss Adam off more. "Are you a detective?" he challenged. "Are you a cop?" Adam grabbed me by the shoulders, ignoring my protests as he shook me. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? Or what they'll do if they find us?"

My hands hit him square in the chest, shoving my body backward as I broke out of his hold. "What'll happen, huh?" I yelled, bitterness poisoning my tongue as the words spilled out. "They'll start a blood feud with the Council for killing someone who was innocent— Oh wait." I paused, letting a thin smile cross my lips. "I forgot, I'm not actually supposed to be on the Council at all, am I?" I forced out a hard laugh, throwing up my hands in an exaggerated shrug.

Finally, finally, Mom spoke up and stepped forward. I could hear the warning in her voice, but I was way past caring. "Ozias Nathaniel Alva—"

"Do you think I'm that stupid?" I cut her off, watching the look of surprise flood her face. In the light, the gash that ran across her forehead was shiny and raw, and for a moment I almost felt guilty. But anger was a funny thing, once it's out you can't really stop it. "Why can't I eat souls, mom? Why can't I lie?" I demanded, practically begging her for an answer but getting only parted lips and shocked eyes instead. "How long were you going to try and ignore that, huh?" "How long?" A hand wrapped around my arm, firm, and stern, but I wasn't finished. "Don't touch me," I spit, jerking myself free of Adam's hold.

Neither of them spoke. They just stared, alternating their gaze from me to each other. My chest heaved with the breath I struggled to shove into my lungs. I could feel my throat tightening, eyes stinging with tears that I wouldn't let come. No explanation was given. No words were spoken. I couldn't—I couldn't be there with them. In that room. Waiting for something that would never come. They're the ones that decided to have a kid and then didn't know what to do with him.

"I'm going to bed," I broke the silence, at last, crossing the room to step into the hallway behind mom.

She turned as I passed, fingers reaching for me but unable to make contact. When she looked at me, a lifetime of bad bar jokes and grilled cheese sandwiches made with produce of questionable quality, as well as hard life lessons and long laughing sessions, flickered in front of my eyes. And it hurt. Nothing had ever hurt so much. "Oz—"

"Don't." I didn't want to turn around and look at her. She'd see the tears pooling in my eyes, the shaking in my shoulders, and then she'd pull me into one of those hugs and everything would be okay. We could put this whole awful mess behind us and forget it ever happened. But I didn't want that. "I don't care that you 'did it for us' or that you were 'waiting until I was old enough to understand'. I—" The words stuck in the back of my throat, unable to break free. "I'm going to bed."

It took two seconds to make it to my room. Less than that to lock the door behind me. I sniffled, wiping tears and snot off my face with the sleeve of my jacket before I slipped it off. The cold air left goosebumps on my skin, but that didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things. Crawling on to my bed— or rather, over it— I fumbled with the cold metal latches locking my window in place. I can't stay here. Already, I could hear their hushed, furious whispers in the hallway. It would go on all night. It was easier to slide the window open, let the warm air rush in and wrap around me. It was easier to climb through it, fingertips dangling on the ledge as my feet found footing in the old brick building.

Climbing down was like going to meet an old friend. I knew every step, there was no need to pay attention. Each brick would hold my weight, just like it always did. In a matter of minutes, I hopped down into the dark alley between buildings. My heart was thrumming in my chest, but not from the climb. Not from the sound of sirens in the distance, or the growl of a million alley dogs as they fought each other god knows where.

Anger was anold emotion. One of the oldest, the rawest, but there was one even stronger.One that predates it by billions of years. Loneliness. I couldn't even distractmyself by knowing its etymology