Love Thy Neighbour (Friend-Zoned 2)

It was a couple of months after I’d left that hell-hole. I took another route home, one closer to my old house. I guessed you could say I was curious to see how they’d been getting on without me. Secretly, I wanted them to be worse off. I wanted dad to realize that I wasn’t the shit thing in his life.

He was.

I climbed over the side gate, peeked through the kitchen window and froze at the sight before me.

He was wailing on mom. She looked like I used to. Black and blue. This was obviously not the first time she took a beating since I’d been gone.

My anger boiled into a rage and unable to stop myself, I went around the house to the back door and into the kitchen. I took hold of a ten-inch kitchen knife, tore my father off of my barely-conscious mother and reared my arm back before piercing the very center of his gut. I pushed that knife in as deep as I could.

It took longer than I expected it to, but I took pleasure watching him gurgle and gasp for breath. I saw the exact moment the light faded from his eyes.

Unsure what to do next, I called Ilia. He told me he’d take care of it and to come straight home.

My mom tried to hug me but I pushed her away. I told her someone would be there soon to clean up and that she needed to take care of herself. With only a nod, I left my mother with my father’s dead body and never looked back.

Ilia came home later than normal that night and came straight up to my room. He took the bag full of bloodied clothes I’d been wearing in one hand and searched my face. Just before he turned to leave, he told me in his heavily accented speech, “Turns out your mom knifed him in self-defense. She’s lucky to be alive, son. ” Putting a hand on my shoulder, he said, “You did good, Asher. She needed you and you came to her. You are like the archangel Michael. The protector. I’m glad you’re a part of this family. ”

Family.

I have one of those.

Coming to an epiphany, I tell my father’s headstone, “I’m nothing like you. ”

I have to get home. I have to see my girl. I somehow have to fix what I fucked up.

But before I do, there’s one stop I need to make.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Grace

I knock on the front door and hundreds of memories course through my brain at once.

It’s been a long time. I used to spend most of my summers here.

The front door opens and the short, plump woman asks, “Can I help you, son?”

Shorter than I remember, that’s for sure. Wearing thick coke bottle glasses, I can see her pretty green eyes peeking out from somewhere behind them. Her hair is in a neat bun at the back of her head. Smiling at the sound of her voice, I tell her, “Yeah, aunt Faith, you can help me. ”

She gasps dramatically and holds onto the door frame for support. She leans closer and whispers, “Asher, baby? Is that you?”

“Yeah. It’s me,” I say, chuckling at her dramatics.

She blinks. Once, twice, three times.

Then she squeals and jumps up and down in excitement, her plump body jiggling with every jump. She yells, “Oh, sweet Jesus! Oh lordy lord! I prayed and prayed and prayed for you, baby. ”

She jumps into my arms and smiling like an ass, I hug her tight. I missed my aunt. Pulling back a little, she places her hands on my forearms and says, “Let me get a look at you!”

She searches my body first, her hands cup my cheeks and she shakes her head and clucks, “Oh, dear me. You turned into a looker, Ashy. ”

I open my mouth to speak, but Aunt Faith turns on her heel and walks back into the house. She shouts, “Follow me, honey. ” So I do. I open my mouth to speak a second time but she cuts me off again with a shout to another room, “Jeffrey, get off your ass! We’ve got company!”

Holy shit. Jeffrey’s still alive?

Jeffrey putters in saying, “What’s with all the squealin’ woman? I can’t hear what the hell’s going on on Wheel of Fortune. ”

Aunt Faith puts a hand on her fleshy hip and responds, “What the hell do you need to hear when you watch Wheel of Fortune? It’s all right there on the screen, Jeff!”