Fighting For Hope

Chapter Nineteen

"It takes a long time to grow an old friend."

—

HOPE'S POV

"What do you mean 'have a word'?" Josh questioned. "She can't speak."

"She doesn't, not can't," Tyler said, then urged him inside a room. I was still quite baffled that he was alive, and I was yearning to ask if he could evoke memories of me even after all these years. I still could elicit the recollections of conversations with him. He knew me. I caused the fire which supposedly killed him.

I mustered my courage and moved to a separate room with hefty anticipation. My heart clenched in my chest. A part of me was worried because I had never committed a brutal crime. Suddenly, I felt like I was capable of handling serenity and happiness again, without the burden I carried for all these years. Another part of me was blaming myself for all the years I wasted brooding it.

I didn't kill anyone.

I felt numb everywhere, and the overwhelming urge to cry out in delight and surprise ate every bit of consciousness I had. Black spots started appearing in my vision, and the world in front of me began to spin, so rapid I felt it take me along.

I closed my eyes for a quick moment, shutting out the images of my life playing in front of me. My father was dying all over again while my mother gripped the tip of the garish red knife with dots of crimson smearing her face. All the times I fought to get my revenge, running but found, took in but displeased. My contentment was taken away so many times I lost count.

The years I spent dwelling and accepting I ended an innocent boy's life, I added into the list. Nothing came to mind when I thought of my future, except for a baby brother. Was it too much to ask for death to be a stranger?

"I'll give you some privacy," I heard Tyler state from the door before it slammed shut. I tried to smother a smile, blinking with force until the black spots slowly vanished before facing Josh.

"Hi," I started, exposing my voice and watching as the one word caused his face to form an expression of utter incredulity. I could almost see his eyes reflecting the questions he was craving to ask. One of them being why did you hide your voice for all this time?

"I have a lot to ask you too," I said, desperately trying to find his eyes.

"You remember, don't you?"

"Remember?" I asked, somewhat dumbstruck. Did he know who I was all along?

"After that story I shared, I figured something would click," he said, his breathing was shallow as he stuffed his hands into his pocket hastily. "Honestly, I have been trying for months now to pick up that courage to thank you."

The statement and his sincerity fazed me. "Don't blame yourself for anything that happened. You didn't kill anyone. You saved me from my father." He offered a smile that didn't quite reach the eyes. I stared back at him in disbelief. I could have ended his life. What would Ian think if he saw his son alive and well? Would he stop tormenting me?

"Won't your father know that you're alive when he couldn't find your corpse in the burning house?" I asked out of curiosity.

"You know him. Maybe even better than I do, he probably thought I burned in ashes," he explained.

"Your father had been after me for years, he made it his goal to have me tortured," I told him, injecting bitterness into my words.

"I'll confront him about the matter soon but first..." He took me by surprise and engulfed me in a warm, solacing hug. One which gave me a wave of tranquillity. "I missed you."