Page 16 of Three Minutes
I scoot closer to her, resting my right hand on her leg. She glances down, studying the mix of scars and tattoos that decorate my skin. For a moment, I see her hesitate, but then she softly places her hand over mine, her fingers gently brushing my wrist. I flinch a little at the sensitivity around the scarred areas she touches, but I don’t pull away. “Beck…I never meant to hurt you, and maybe it was selfish of me to think you understood why things happened the way they did.” I run my free hand through my hair, my thoughts tangled. “That first night with you wasunforgettable…I wanted that for us, too—I craved more than just that moment with you. But then it all fell apart. The fire…losing my mom and uncle. I fought so damn hard to push it all aside, to separate those memories, but you have to understand. While we were sharing something beautiful, my family was trapped in that burning house.” A tear slips from the corner of her sapphire eyes, but she quickly wipes it away, giving a slow nod.
“Please know…it’s not your fault. It’s just awful how everything turned out because…I know things between us could be different if not for that. But no matter how hard I try to move on…I can’t, and I’m really fucking sorry that you got caught in all of it.” I take a deep breath and give her leg a gentle squeeze. When she meets my gaze, her watery eyes search mine. “Beck, believe me when I say this…I love you so damn much. I want nothing more than for you to be happy…even though that happiness can never come from me.”
She quickly looks away, nodding in acceptance, understanding the weight of my words. Then she squeezes my hand back and asks, “Are you happy…Ezra?”
I shift my focus back to the lake, noticing Blake making his way back from his lap. “Yeah…as much as I can be,” I reply, lying just a bit. I feel her eyes on me as we both process the conversation that we’ve needed to have for so long.
“Well, I love you, too…and I want you to be happy as well.” Looking back at her, I manage a genuine smile. I slide my hand from beneath hers and rest it on top of hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Holy shit, check out how huge this thing is!” Blake yells from below. Beck and I quickly reposition ourselves, releasing each other’s hands. Peering over the edge, we get a view of Blake’s bare ass surfacing from the water as he floats face down. It takes all my willpower not to get up and find a rock to toss at him. Beck and I exchange glances, unable to suppress the laughterbubbling up inside us. Leave it to dumbass Blake to lighten the mood.
Finally, Beck stands up, brushing off her legs. “Are you getting in?” she asks.
“Yeah…I just need a smoke real quick. I’ll see you down there.” She smiles before diving in. I close my eyes and take a long, deep breath, feeling the tension in my shoulders ease. It’s as if we’ve both been holding on to so much for too long, and all we needed was that conversation. I can’t help but feel guilty for leaving her in the dark for so long. But I truly hope that the tension that hung between us is finally behind us now.
Chapter Twelve
Thump…thump…thump.My heart pounds as I sit on my bike across from the driveway, gazing at a house that feels unfamiliar. Everywhere around me is swallowed by the night. Through the open blinds, I watch a man and a woman in the living room, engaged in conversation. They’re likely sharing stories about their day at work or chatting about their weekend plans. I watch as the woman rests her head on his shoulder, radiating contentment. He gently places his hand on her stomach, rubbing in small circles, and I realize with a squint that she has a small, round belly—she’s pregnant. Just then, a young boy dashes into the living room, plopping down next to the man who I assume is his father. The boy wraps his arms tightly around the man’s neck, and the man reciprocates with a squeeze. They embody the ideal family that everyone dreams of being a part of.
There’s a persistent ache in my chest that I just can’t shake off. Growing up, I struggled to feel my father’s affection; I can hardly remember a simple hug from him. Instead, my memories are filled with his lectures, his yelling, and the many times he wasn’t around. Some moments from my childhood seem fuzzy and dreamlike, almost like they’re slipping away from me. It’s as if my mind is trying to shield certain parts of me from the traumas I faced as a kid.
My mom was always there, doing her best to fill the gaps in mychildhood. Meanwhile, my uncle Jesse, though often busy with work, made a genuine effort to be a positive male role model in my life whenever he could. At times, it seemed he was caught in a tug-of-war between not wanting to overstep my father and trying to compensate for his younger brother’s mistakes. Yet I still wonder what he truly knew about my father and the dynamics in our house. For years, I’ve been trying to piece together the countless unanswered questions that lingered after the fire.
I crack my neck, trying to shake off the tension as I focus on the cheerful family in front of me and the house that feels so foreign. Do they have any idea about the history beneath the very ground their home stands on? Do they know that once, another family lived here, broken and scarred? Then one fateful day, everything went up in flames, claiming two lives and leaving behind a teenager with his world reduced to ashes? I clench my fist and press it against my anxious chest, feeling anger surge through my veins. Staring at this home and the happy family inside only serves as a harsh reminder that the history here has been erased, built over, and forgotten. I’m the only one who carries the weight of guilt and the sting of pain. I never knew that loss could live deep inside your bones, like a starving ache that slowly eats away at your bone matter. I’ve only learned to live with it and accept it as my punishment.
So deep in my thoughts, I hadn’t realized my heavy breathing and the fast beating of my heart.Fuck, not right now.I press my fist hard into my chest, trying to steady my breathing.In through your nose and breathe out through your mouth, Ezra.My mom’s soothing words whisper through me. I repeat her words to myself over and over. I begin to feel slightly light-headed while a sudden flow of fear pokes at my nerves. My hand grips where my heart panics beneath my chest cavity, while my left hand grips my right shoulder, my fingers digging into thetense muscle hidden under fabric. “Hey! Can I help you?” A male voice sounds from my left. I jerk my attention back to the house, seeing the man from inside walking across the yard toward me.Shit. I throw my hand up, waving it in the air, before quickly turning my bike on. I can’t imagine what’s running through his head: a random male sitting across from his house at nighttime. I can only be thankful my helmet is on, hiding my identity.
Before he reaches the street, I speed off into the night. My blurred vision worsens as I struggle to focus on the darkened streets ahead. Panic surges through me, and in my haste, I forget to turn on my headlights. My breathing grows heavy inside my bike helmet, thickening the air around me. It feels like I’m trapped within a wall, gasping for air. I weave down several roads, desperate to put as much distance as possible between myself and that house. My vision starts to fade, and a tingling numbness creeps into my right arm. Just ahead, I catch sight of a small patch of woods, and a flicker of relief sparks in my chest. I steer the bike into the grass by the trees, but as I try to park, I tumble off, letting the bike crash onto the ground beside me. I scramble on all fours before yanking off my helmet and tossing it aside. Sharp tingles race through my arms and hands as I lower my head between my arms. I grasp the grass beneath me, craving the feeling of the earth. The cool, damp blades soothe my fingers as I work to regain control of my body.
I make an effort to focus on happy thoughts and memories that bring me a sense of safety and calm. I envision my mom with her infectious smile and hear her warm voice in my mind. I think of the twins and their irritating banter. Then, I picture her—Raina. Gradually, my heart finds its rhythm, and I anchor my attention on that. The tingling in my limbs starts to fade as I ground myself once more. Finally, my breathing begins to slow.In through your nose and breathe out through your mouth, Ezra.
I roll onto my back, placing my palms over my chest as I gaze up at the sky where flickering stars are scattered like tiny diamonds. The crescent moon shines brighter than ever. I try to soak in the night’s stillness and the sounds of crickets and the whispers of the forest as exhaustion seeps into my bones. With a flick of my wrist, I pull out my Zippo and a cigarette from my pocket. Closing my eyes, I take a deep drag of the addictive smoke. My eyelids grow heavy; it wouldn’t take much for me to drift off right here in this damned grass. Those episodes drain every ounce of energy from me, proving just how weak I truly am. I mask my pain every day, but it always finds a way to break me down. And before I know it, I’m that scared little boy again, yearning for my mom’s reassurance to quiet the voices in my head. But she’s long gone, leaving me to battle this constant fight-or-flight state of mind on my own.
My eyes glaze over as I take a long drag from my cigarette, watching the cherry glow a vibrant red, alive with intensity. I lift my shirt, tracing my fingers along the scars I’ve etched into my skin over the years. Slowly, I pull the cigarette from my lips and roll it between my fingers, not even glancing at it. I guide it to my side, my fingertips gliding over the tender scarred surface. With a gentle touch, I press the glowing cherry against my skin, a sharp hiss escaping my lips as I quickly pull it away, feeling a slight burn tingle through me. I close my eyes for a brief moment, then open them again, refocusing on the dark sky above.
Again, I press the glowing tip of the lit cigarette against my side, savoring the familiar sting as I twist it back and forth, using my skin as an ashtray. I keep at it until the cherry fizzles out completely. After letting out a heavy sigh, I brush away the ash from the small burn and tug my shirt down to cover it. I push myself up off the ground and search for my bike helmet, running my fingers through my hair to slick it back before putting it on.Turning my gaze toward my bike, it dawns on me that I had accidentally laid it over. My thoughts have been so scattered that I completely forgot it was still running.
I pick it back up, swinging my leg over the seat. I tighten my grip on the handles, feeling the rubber under my callused palms. My head droops between my shoulders in defeat. I can’t shake the feeling of foolishness for going there. I had avoided it all these years, and even though I knew what the outcome would be, I still decided to leave the lake and go by there. It was in the back of my mind the entire time at the lake. The conversation Beck and I had didn’t help the situation, either. The events of tonight have revealed exactly who I am—a human built of thin, cracked glass. A fragmented window that’s ready to burst into flames from the inside out. It proves me to be the very person I’ve tried so hard to conceal—a broken one.
Chapter Thirteen
Past—Five Months After The Fire
Tonight marks the first time Beck and I have been alone in the house since I moved in. Eric is working a late shift at the fire department, and Blake is spending the night at Andrea’s since her parents are out of town for the weekend. I’ve done my best to settle in here, given everything that’s happened. For months, things have remained quiet. It feels like everyone is tiptoeing around me, careful not to say the wrong thing or draw attention to my difficult situation. I can’t blame them, though. How can anyone know how to respond when someone is going through shitty times? It’s uncomfortable for everyone. Honestly, I feel guilty that they have to deal with my baggage, which has followed me here. My circumstances are quite unusual. I’m genuinely grateful to the twins’ dad for allowing me to have a place to call home.Home.Just saying that word makes my stomach turn. As long as I’ve known this place and family, it will never truly be that for me.
My train of thought is interrupted as Beck steps into the kitchen. “What are you making?” she asks, leaning her elbows on the counter.
I set the wooden spoon down next to the stove. “I’m making my mom’s chicken alfredo,” I reply. She tilts her head slightly, a smile playing on her lips. I laugh at her expression. “It doesn’tcompare to hers, but it’s edible.”
She inches closer, eyeing my culinary creation bubbling away. “You’ll have to let me know how it turns out,” she says, her curiosity evident.
I clear my throat, feeling a bit nervous. “Well…I actually made enough for two…I thought since it’s just us tonight, we could enjoy dinner together and maybe watch something?” I glance back at her, catching a look of surprise on her face. She then tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Oh! I’d love that,” she replies. A wave of relief washes over me, calming my racing heartbeat.
Things have felt off since that night, and I struggle to find the right words to explain to her how I feel or why we’ve built this fragile wall between us. Where do I even start? With all that has happened all at once, my mind hasn’t fully processed it all or figured out how to cope. I’ve tried my best to shove it all down and keep it to myself, but some feelings just won’t stay buried. And the nightmares come and go as they please—some nights are worse than others, waking everyone in the house. During those tough nights, it’s Beck who has sat by my side. I suppose it’s just her instinct to nurture as a female. Sometimes I’ve jolted awake and, for a short moment, thought she was my mom. Yet, there are also nights I can’t make sense of, where I can’t tell if I’m dreaming or losing grip on reality. Maybe both sometimes.
I don’t want things to be awkward between us, and tonight I’m attempting to set things right—not for my sake, but for hers. She truly deserves that. I can’t ignore that I miss her; I long for the way things used to be and the feelings she pulled from me that day before everything went crashing downhill. The real question is whether those feelings can turn into something more, and if I can let go of how things unfolded that night. As anxious as it makes me, this is me trying to figure it out. Tonight is my chance.
