I glance from her to the shards on the floor and then back at

her with my mouth hanging open. She’s never been this upset

before. She’s usually subdued. But as quickly as the wildfire came,

it’s gone and the flames and rage in her eyes dissipates. She runs

her hands down her hair, combing it back into place before she

walks out of the room and leaves me to clean up the mess.

I get a broom from the closet and sweep it up, watching the

broken pieces fall into the garbage can as I empty out the dust

pan. I notice some travel itinerary to Paris and also Puerto Rico in

the garbage and wonder if that’s where my dad went. These places

seem more like a vacation, though, than a business trip.

As I put the broom away, I get lost in that night, the

uncontrollable anger in my father’s eyes, and the feeling of not

knowing surfaces in my chest. What is going to happen to me?

How do I make myself fit back into life when I thought I’d fallen

into death? And will I even ever have a life to fit back into again?

My mom can pretend all she wants that this is going to go

perfectly—that they’ll pay off Caleb and he’ll keep his mouth

shut—but I have my doubts and I won’t be the least bit surprised if

he takes the money and still presses charges.

I continue to analyze my plans as I go down to the room in

the basement and sit in the quiet. I take my phone out of my

pocket and stare at the screen with my finger hovering over the

TALK button. I want to call Callie so fucking bad. Because it feels

like she could help me, let me know some of the answers, give me

a reason to revive again.

“Hey, man.” Tyler stumbles into the room and slams the door

shut with his elbow. He’s got a brown paper bag in his hand and

he tips his head back and takes a swig from whatever is inside and

then wipes his face with the sleeve of his shirt and directs the bag

at me.

I shake my head and put my phone away, taking Tyler’s

interruption as a sign not to call Callie. “No thanks, man.”

He shrugs and takes another gulp before flopping down in

the leather sofa across from mine. He looks more like he’s in his

late thirties than his twenties and his clothes are ragged and worn.

He’s missing one of his teeth, which he says is from a fight, but I

wonder if he’s a crack addict or something by all the sores on his

face. His brown hair is cropped and it’s thinning out and he reeks

of smoke and booze.

“How long are you staying here?” He kicks his feet up on the

table and there’s a hole in the bottom of his shoe.

“I have no idea.” I pick up the remote from the coffee table

and aim it at the television screen. “I guess it depends on what

happens with this Caleb thing.”

He removes the paper bag from the bottle of vodka and puts

the tip of the bottle up to his mouth. “Yeah, what was that about?”

He knocks a shot back and then slams the bottle down on the

table. There’s a red ring around his mouth from pressing the bottle

against it and I wonder if it hurt or if he even felt it.

I turn on the TV and begin flipping through the channels. I

don’t want to talk to him when he’s so trashed that he won’t

remember a word. Even though it’s probably wrong, I still have

bitter feelings toward him for bailing on me when I was a kid so he

could turn into this. “It’s called life.”

He laughs incredulously. “Life’s called beating the shit out of

someone?”

“It was our life for a while,” I say and he fidgets

uncomfortably. I crack my knuckles and my neck, resisting the urge

to ram my fist into the table in front of me. “I didn’t beat the shit out of him. I broke his nose, knocked out a few teeth, and bruised

the shit out of his face. That’s it.”

“Yeah, but what did Caleb Miller do to you?” he presses. “The

last time I was here, he seemed like an okay guy.”

I pop my knuckles again, pushing on them as hard as I can,

until the skin feels like it’s going to split open. “He’s a fucking prick who got away with something he should be in jail for. What I did

to him was minor compared to what should be done to him.” I get

up because I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

He turns around in the chair, following me with his

bloodshot eyes. “Didn’t you beat him unconscious?”

I shake my head as I jerk open the door. “Nope.” I thought I

did, but it turned out he was just playing it up. Yeah, his face

looked like a fucking lumpy blueberry, but by the time the police

put me in the back of the car, he was up and milking it for all it was worth.

I walk outside, done with the conversation. I don’t have a

coat on, just a hoodie, but I welcome the cold as I hike across the

icy front yard, tromping through the snow, with my arms at my

sides. Both cars are gone from the driveway, but the motorcycle is

in the garage with the key in it. I run my hand along the leather

seat, thinking about the last time I rode it and how I wrecked it

trying to jump it over a hill. It’s black, sleek, and not made for

jumping, but I was showing off for a bunch of girls and ended up

skidding into the dirt and giving myself killer road rash. It was

minor compared to some of the things my father’s done to me and

even some of the things I’ve done to myself.

Rolling my wrist and feeling a slight pain inside the muscle

from my cuts, I swing my leg over the seat, turn the key, and floor

the throttle while I hold down the brake. The engine and exhaust

huffs to life and for a split second I feel alive. I pick up my feet, release the brake, and fly out of the garage onto the road. It’s

colder than hell, but it could be worse. It’s actually a warm day for Afton and the roads are clear. I can deal with it as long as I drive

slowly. I just need to go somewhere.

Anywhere, but here.

Callie

It’s been a little less than a week since I saw Kayden at the

café. I’ve texted and called him a couple of times and always end

up crying because he won’t answer. I can’t stop thinking about the

emptiness in his eyes and the anger in them when he pulled away.

Seth’s texted him a few times, but it always goes unanswered. It

kills me that there’s been no contact with him and that he’s up in

that house, alone with his terrible family, keeping silent about his

life. Silence. Silence. Why is it always about silence? I wish both of us could tell the world and be free from the chains we drag

around.

Seth and I have been spending a lot of time away from my

house, hanging out at the café, eating too many pancakes, and

driving the roads aimlessly, anything that will keep me away from

my mother. It’s not like she’s been terrible, but she keeps

reminding me about my obligation to my brother and Caleb, since

they’re a “package deal.” But yesterday was Christmas, and she