If It Wasn't A Dream~Chapter 2 Pt.2
Chapter 2 continues, and our main character is driving through the town at night to visit some memorable spots. For those of you new here, this is one of my novels that I've slowly been editing and posting here! The previous parts are on my blog. This is this week's part and it's a bit longer than the previous ones, yay! I hope you all enjoy!
Other than little bits and pieces, Nix really doesn’t remember much about Tarrytown, but the way to his old apartment comes to him naturally. It’s seared into his memory, seared into his skin. The building’s look, however, isn’t the same as his memory. The old red bricks are crumbling now, the balcony railings falling and rusted. It can’t be in use anymore, but it isn’t much better than when he lived in it anyway. He counts the rows and columns of windows. 1...2...3..4 and three to the left...his window. The apartment.
His mother had been screaming for an hour. Something about his uselessness, how she was always tripping over him, and how stupid she had been to marry his father, how stupid she had been to have Nix. She shattered another picture of Dad. She grabbed her keys, slammed the door shut and left. Nix scrambled from his spot next to the couch to the window of the apartment, watching.
“Don’t come back.” he whispered, his breath fogging up the window.
An hour passed, maybe two, before Nix began to smell smoke in the air. It took another half hour before something popped in the oven, and then the flames began to spread. He ran to the door, but the lock was faulty from the inside. Nix yelled. He screamed, he clawed at the door until his fingertips were raw from the wood, and then he sank back against it coughing.
He can’t remember how long he was there after that. At some point Nix blacked out and woke up when a neighbor called the firemen and they dragged him out, back raw with burns, face protected by his raincoat. His mother showed up 20 minutes later, and they left down immediately, Nix still crying in the backseat.
He touches the raised flesh on his back, feeling the scars under his fingers. They twinge, a reminder of how deep the wounds had been. Nix pulls down the sleeves of his sweater, looking out from the car window for anyone nearby. But there aren’t any wailing sirens or screaming neighbors. Just the quiet, the building and him.
11:25. Nix glances at the digital clock on the dashboard in a sort of delirious panic, realizing just how late he is when he pulls into the house. A light in the living room only makes him more nervous, and his hands shake as he reaches for the doorknob, an apology already on his tongue, his muscles already tense. Bracing for what he expects next.
“That took awhile.” Zeke is sitting across from Levi on the other couch now, the two brothers each reading.
Abuelo is sleeping in a cushioned recliner, a rolled up newspaper limp in his hand. He rattles the room with his snores, but neither Levi nor Zeke seem to care right now. Nix flinches at the look in Levi’s eyes, edging away from them.
“It’s eleven twenty-five.” Levi says, not wasting anytime.
“I know. Please I-”
“We were worried, Nix.” the foster dad says, clasping his hands together. “I’m guessing you just lost track of time?”
“I did! I did. I uh, went to see if my old apartment was still there.” the words are hurried as they leave his mouth, a panicked squeak.
“And was it?”
“What?”
“Was it still there?”
Nix doesn’t answer, searching Levi’s face. There’s genuine concern there, something he isn’t sure what to do with. But a little bit of the tension in his shoulders releases. Relief surges through him. There won’t be any new bruises tonight.
“Mostly.” Nix doesn’t elaborate, and hopes Levi won’t ask him to.
He doesn’t. Just looks at Zeke, who nods, eyes still watching Nix like he’s a new species he discovered. Levi pats the seat next to him on the couch for Nix to sit in.
“Tomorrow’s Sunday, which means we’re all going to church. You don’t have to join unless you’d really want to, as much as I’d like it.”
Not for the first time since he got here, Nix notices the Bible on the coffee table. He went to church once, while he lived here. He remembers the same little girl from before wearing a green dress, pulling him inside to sit on a pew. The singing was pretty, and he remembers the tug on his heart when the pastor spoke about Jesus who said all Christians should be like children. Then he got home, and reality came back.
“I think I’ll stay.”
Sunlight stabs at Nix’s eyes the next morning, demanding he wake up. His back protests, not used to the new bed, his entire body uncomfortable from the sleepless night. The sheets smell like detergent here instead of mothballs, and his pillow is soft, but foreign. The room itself didn’t make sleeping any easier. He’s not used to such a big space, not used to so much room to be exposed in. Nix likes small spaces. Less space for his mother.
His clothes are still unpacked in the corner, and he pulls out the first shirt and jeans he can find, pulling a pair of socks over his feet before heading downstairs. The house is empty, so he takes a second to look at the pictures on the walls of the staircase. They’re not framed, just pictures tacked onto the wall, a bit crude maybe, but whoever took them had talent. There’s one of Joel as a teenager, hunched over a book underneath a tree. Another is of Kai as a toddler, sleeping on Levi’s chest and one of Michael, walking through the front door with a suitcase.
His first day here? Nix pauses for a second, analyzing the smile on Michael’s face. He looks... happy.
The next is Oliver on a swing somewhere. Zeke and Levi, arms around each other, as teenagers. One or two of Abuelo, but they’re not as well taken. He must be the photographer for all the others. The last one is Joel wearing a cap and gown. His graduation.
Nix jumps, slamming into the wall, a picture falling with him. He looks up from the floor, scowling, at the same girl from last night. She’s wearing a flowery blouse with bright yellow pants and Nix almost closes his eyes against the bright colors. But then he notices her hair is in two braids, and she beams down at him, dark brown eyes sparkling. The same braids as the girl with the paper crown, the same laughing eyes as the girl who took him to church. The memory slams into him with the weight of a train.
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