A way out

The escaping

six years earlier.

''Why are you leaving mom, please you can't do this to me. You have to stay here.'' I said as I looked at my mom who was busy packing her suitcase. She hasn't said anything to me in the last week since the accident of Miles. I didn't know if she was angry at me, at Miles, at dad, or all of us. The fact that I don't know if she was blaming me for everything, or if she was just sad and not able to talk. I have been sitting on their bed since I got back from outside. I have been spending a lot of time outside, only for the distraction. Not once have I crossed the path of the old oak tree. Even when I only thought of the place, I went crazy and felt everything I haven't felt in my life before. I sat in front of our house on the bench most of the time, looking at the sunset. It was the only thing that gave me a bit of peace. It felt silly when I caught myself being fond of nature. I have always found it silly when people were admired by nature and got their peace out of it, but when it happened to me, I forgave myself. When the sun went down, I went inside. It was dark and cold. I yelled for my mom, but I didn't bother seeking for dad, 'cause I already knew what he was doing. Drinking. When I got no response from my mom, there was nothing else that I could do then seek in all the rooms. When I heard sounds coming from my parent's bedroom, I immediately entered and got on the bed. 

''Why won't you talk to me mom?'' Still no response. ''Mom?'' Then she looked up at me with the same green eyes as Miles and me. For a second I thought she was gonna say something, but her mouth did nothing more than simply open and close again. Her gaze was locked on mine for a few seconds, but when I didn't break the eye contact, she continued packing again. I sighed and let myself fall on my back onto the bed. I cocked my head to the right, and my eyes met my mom's bedside table. A photo frame caught my attention. It was a photograph of my dad and mom together probably on one of their romantic vacations in Portugal. A little portrait photo was tucked in the corner of the photo frame. It was a photo of Miles or me. I wasn't quite sure. I moved a little closer to the left to have a better look at it. No, it was Miles. She wouldn't even see the difference between their twin sons. I bet she has even written our names on the back of the photo. Again I moved a little closer to the dusty table beside the bed. When I took the photo out of the frame I noticed that this was the first time I had looked at a picture of him after the accident. I felt tears burning at the back of my eyes. Poor Miles. I quickly shook my head to bring myself back to reality. My fingers turned the portrait around and indeed there it was written. Miles. I had always felt that my mom had loved Miles more than me. Miles always got more clothes than me. More attention of my parents. I have always left out, also in little things. And I have never known why exactly.

Without knowing my mom walked toward me and grabbed the little portrait photo out of my hands. My vision focussed on her as soon as she looked at me. Still not saying anything but she quickly took the picture away and put it in her bag. I decided not to try to get her attention anymore and laid both my arms under my head to rest. My eyes were locked with the white boring ceiling. The boredom reminded me of those days when it rained and mom, dad, and Miles were of to his football match. I have never liked football, so most of the time I stayed at home, which I now really regret. I would pay a million dollars if I had it, to see Miles play football. My thoughts got interrupted by heavy footsteps which crossed the hall and stopped when they entered the bedroom. It was my dad, and I already knew that he was about to say something about me laying on the bed with my shoes on. ''Rafe Dean Adams, get off that bed NOW!'' Told ya. I said to myself. ''Dad,'' I said as I got off the bed. ''Please, stop calling me by my middle name. I hate that name.'' Almost shocked by the fact that I had just said that. His hand met my chin and I felt him cupping it roughly, forcing me to look up at him. ''It's your grandfather's first name, so you better be respectful to him and me...I don't want you talking to me in that tone again! Understood?'' He said as he widened his blue eyes. Instead of answering his demanding question, I answered it with a question back. ''Why is mom packing, dad?'' His raised eyebrows had now fallen down. He looked a bit shocked by the fact that I asked that. When he didn't answer, I raised my eyebrows, waiting for an answer. ''Your mother is going to make a little trip someplace nice.'' Is that it? Is that the only thing he could say about this? The painful smile on his face made my stomach twist.