Chapter 79 Chapter Seventy-Five
Omniscient Narrative
Alex didn't know where he was going.
He just knew he couldn't stay.
The sound of voices followed him at first, they were confused, hushed, overlapping, they were disturbing, but they faded quickly as he walked faster, then faster still, shoes scraping against the pavement as he moved away from the house.
The lights from the party glowed behind him, distant now.
Laughter that didn't make sense anymore. The music that felt wrong, like it didn't belong in a world where he had just destroyed something he loved.
His chest burned, it ached so bad.
Every breath felt sharp, unfinished.
You're dead to me.
The words replayed over and over in his head, each repetition worse than the last.
Alex's vision blurred. He swiped at his eyes angrily, jaw clenched, forcing himself to keep moving.
He didn't deserve to stop.
Didn't deserve comfort.
Not after what he had done, what he had said.
"Alex!"
His father's voice cut through the night.
Alex flinched but didn't turn around.
Footsteps hurried after him. Heavy. Determined.
"Alex, stop."
He didn't, he kept on going, he didn’t feel like stopping.
A hand grabbed his arm and yanked him back hard enough that he stumbled. He spun around, breath hitching, chest heaving.
His father stood in front of him, face flushed, not from the cold.
But from anger.
"What the hell was that?" his father demanded.
Alex couldn't answer.
His throat felt locked. His tongue useless. He stared at the ground instead, fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms.
"You don't get into a physical fight at my house," his father continued, voice sharp. "Not with anyone Alex and definitely not with the person you call your best friend."
Alex's shoulders shook.
"I raised you better than that."
That did it.
Alex's breath stuttered, a broken sound tearing out of his chest as his head dropped forward. Tears spilled before he could stop them, hot, humiliating, relentless.
"I know Dad," Alex choked. "I know."
His father paused mid-lecture.
Alex pressed his hands to his face, shoulders caving inward as the dam broke completely.
"I didn't mean it," Alex sobbed. "I didn't mean to say it. I didn't mean to hurt him, I swear."
His father stared at him, stunned by the sudden collapse.
"Alex..." his voice softened despite himself. "What happened exactly?, why did you and Demi get into a fight"
Alex shook his head violently.
"I can't," he whispered. "I can't say it."
He slid down until he was sitting on the curb, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. His body shook with quiet, ugly sobs, the kind he hadn't let himself have in years.
His father stood there for a moment, torn between anger and something much heavier.
Then he sighed.
The sharpness left his posture.
He stepped closer and crouched down in front of his son.
"Hey, Hey" he said quietly. "Look at me."
Alex couldn't, he was trying his best not to break down.
"I messed everything up," Alex whispered. "I ruined it. I ruined him."
His father swallowed hard.
"Okay," he said gently. "You don't have to explain right now."
Alex shook his head again, tears dripping onto the pavement. "I said something I can't take back."
His father exhaled slowly and sat down beside him instead of in front of him, shoulder to shoulder, not forcing eye contact.
"Then cry," he said simply.
Alex let out a sound somewhere between a sob and a gasp and leaned forward, breaking completely.
He cried into his hands, chest hitching violently, breath coming in sharp, broken pulls. His father didn't speak. Didn't interrupt. He just sat there, solid and quiet, one hand eventually resting on Alex's back.
The night wrapped around them, it was cold.
"I didn't mean to fight him," Alex choked. "I just, seeing him leave, he looked so hurt."
His father's jaw tightened, but he stayed quiet.
"I hate myself," Alex whispered.
His father's hand pressed a little firmer against his back. "I know you think that right now, but I promise you it’s not what you actually feel."
Alex dragged in a shaky breath. "I don't even understand why it hurts this bad."
Silence.
Not the judgmental kind.
The patient kind.
His father didn't ask who started it.
Didn't demand an explanation.
Didn't push for the truth Alex wasn't ready to say.
He just stayed.
And Alex cried like his heart had been ripped open, because in a way, it had.