Behind |First book in The Risen Saga|

Chapter Five|Tyson - Masked Truths

 Despite Ava's constant insisting that I stay at her house that night, I left, walking down the road and towards home. She'd argued about me leaving but when she figured out that she wasn't going to win that argument, she started another one about me walking home alone. 

After what had happened last time I walked home alone, I had to admit that I was afraid. 

But I didn't want Ava to worry about me so, after some tears shed and gentle hugs, I left the comfort of that house. 

Emma had assured me that she'd get the ingredients needed to complete the transformation ritual. Well, the ones that she could get. I still couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that I had to kill someone. It didn't matter that the person was a Night Child and could have done numerous horrible deeds in the past—no one deserved that fate. 

But I couldn't think about myself, even though my heart was racing and my mind was clouded. I couldn't think about myself because I wasn't living for myself. 

I was living for my mom so that she wasn't alone on days when my dad had to work late. So that she didn't find herself sitting in the kitchen staring into the distance because she didn't know what to do all by herself. So that she didn't find herself making dinner in silence.

I was living for my father so I could stop him from finding comfort from his stress at the bottom of a bottle. So that he wouldn't keep telling himself that one more drink was okay. So that he didn't have to spray air-fresheners to get the bitter stench of alcohol out of the couch every morning. 

I was living for my step-brother so that, even though he was hundreds of miles away, he still had something to look forward to when he visited. So that he knew he always had a place to come back to. So that he knew that no matter the circumstances, I would always be there for him. 

I was living for Ava so that the grief that she'd been dealing with for almost seven years didn't come back and dig a hole in her chest. So that her only salvation wasn't the soft blankets on her bed and the empty ceiling. So that when she wanted to cry, she could do just that.

So I blocked out my feelings because they didn't matter. I would do what I must so that I could be there for others. 

And if it destroyed me, then I guess I'd just have to learn how to deal with it. 

The cold night air did nothing to help the needles spiking through my arm as I grew closer and closer to home. 

Whatever Emma had done had taken away the pain almost immediately, but I could feel it coming back. It wasn't the same pain, though. The pain before was a scorching burn, like a red hot iron had been pressed to my skin and I could do nothing to escape it. But, now, the pain was more of a distinct stab, throbbing here and there with a cruel spike before quickly receding. 

At least I was sure that what was happening before wasn't happening again. 

My mind drifted to Ava. Of her stunning grace that seemed to go unnoticed in her eyes. Of how no matter how distant she became, people still noticed her pain. Or even the vulnerability I felt around her. How her sadness could cut through my carefully guarded walls like a knife through paper. 

I'd worked on those walls all my life, knowing I had to live up to the version of myself that my father saw. They'd been guarding everything I felt but when I was around Ava, everything seemed to collapse. 

I guess that was a problem now. If I had to complete the transformation ritual, I had to lock my emotions out as well as in. Other people couldn't access them, but I couldn't either. 

I brushed off my thoughts as my house came into view. It was a modern home—small, but comfortable; welcoming. A thin sidewalk led up the middle of the small yard, right up to the white door leading into the taupe house, a hanging flower pot holding purple geraniums swinging to the left of the door.