(hi, tysm for reading, vote if you are so inclined :)
nyctophobia (n.)
nyc·to·pho·bi·a
An abnormal fear of the night or of the dark.
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The last time I heard from my father, I was a week from fifteen.
My uncle was talking on the phone one day and I had come home from school early since it was the end of the quarter and classes ended by noon. I was in through the door just in time to watch my world crack for the third time of my young life.
"You fucked up, hyung," my uncle hissed, and I had paused at the threshold, key still cold in my hand. "You really fucked up this time."
The grainy, thickly chorded voice of my father escaped through speaker phone.
"I just need you to keep him under a roof, David," my father said. "He's fourteen."
"Maybe shoulda thought of that before you got yourself behind fucking bars," my uncle hissed.
"I'm gonna get out. I'm gonna get out and then we'll talk. For now, just keep him in check. He's your nephew."
"You really think you can do this to me right now?"
My father's voice was raspy with exhaustion and desperation. "Please," he gritted out, and that was enough to say how much he hated the situation, too. Please wasn't a word my father used.
"Please? Please what? He can fend for himself. Why the fuck should I help you?"
"I'll get you the money. Later. Just for now. Just till I get out. I'll get you the money," my dad repeated.
"When are you out?" my uncle huffed.
"I don't know. More than two years, that's all I heard."
"Jinjjaro. You have some nerve. You think I'm just gonna put up with this kid because you couldn't manage your fucking money? You fucked over your wife and now you're fucking over me."
"I'll get you the money." My father sighed shakily through the rust of the speaker. "Just...take care of him. Until I get out."
The pause my uncle gave could've entailed eons. After it, he said, "Fine."
And I ran outside, made it as far as hallway's far window, and vomited right into Mrs. Presley's daffodils on the floor below.
I never told my uncle, and my uncle never told me, because he saw me coming back from the hallway and we had a talent of never saying more than we had to to each other. He knew. For fuck's sake, he always knew.
I was in that age where you knew enough to understand something but you didn't know enough to think about it. My father kept to his word in that we did get small sums of money every other month, but he fell through it too in that if he was out, he never returned. If he got out, we never heard, and if he didn't, maybe it was better that way.
YOU ARE READING
Suicide Buddies
Teen Fiction"My mother once told me there are three, and only three, truly defining moments in your life. One: When you don't know. Two: When you realize you don't know. Three: When you know. This is about the third one." --- Angel Young is going to die. Or at...
