The First Step

Chapter 9.

Home.

I'd only left it a little over a month ago, and at the time, it seemed pretty great. No little sister hounding me when I wanted to take a nap, chores on my own terms, and no nitpicking from my mom to tell me to get off the computer and head to bed early. A month ago, and I'd walked out of here holding a guitar case and the last box of my clothes, passed it off into her little blue sports car, and closed the front door behind me for the last in what was supposed to be a long time.

And now I was leaning against it like it was life support, feeling the cold pane of the glass pressed against cheeks whipped raw from the high up winds. All I had to do was type in the code for the front door, but for some reason I just continued to lean there, lazily looking at the bright yellow shingles until I closed my eyes in exhaustion.

"Crow?"

I snapped to attention at the sound of my mother's voice, although she didn't sound angry. More... concerned? Confused?

At least, until she caught sight of me through the screen door she was opening. Then her green eyes were narrowing in disgust, nose wrinkling as she looked me up and down again and again. "Why do you smell like alcohol?"

"Shit, do I?" I asked before I could cut myself off, and I froze a bit in front of her, not meeting her gaze. Not that I'd ever been great about swearing, but I'd certainly taken my liberties with it once college started, and now that I was back home, head a rotten mess and legs weak from flying for so long, I had to remember to watch it. At least in front of my sister.

"You do. Like alcohol and vomit." Her voice was curt, and even though I was trying to stare down to avoid her, she just forced her shorter self closer until my vision was filled with waves of wild, ginger hair, framing a quickly reddening face. "You want to explain yourself?"

It was odd, looking at her with a deadened expression as I stood up to my full height. Because, in the past, I would have broken down. I would have thrown myself at her shoulder, wrapped my arms around her and just sobbed. The last time I lost a friend, I'd done exactly that, or sat on my bed, trying to explain the same looping mindset to her for hours. But that was three years ago, and I was grown now, or at least less pathetic than my sixteen-year-old self anyway. Now I just stood, watching her coldly as I thought of the only answer I could.

"Dustin's gone."

"What?" My mother took a step back, eyes widening and scowling expression falling away into something else. Pity, maybe. I wasn't sure. All I knew was it was getting on my nerves, my fingers clenching and unclenching all while she watched warily. "What do you mean, gone?"

"We got into a fight, he walked out, and I haven't seen or heard from him since. He's just.... gone." I paused, craning my neck to peer behind her. The inside of the house was dark, given how it was still early in the morning and Gaia already having left for school. Still, it could have been the depth of hell and I would've taken it over standing in the godforsaken cold any longer. "Look," I said, my body deflating as I continued to hover in the door frame. "Can I please just come in? I know I'm a mess, and I'm sorry. I just—"

My forehead rested against the side of the frame. "I just really want to sit down."

She frowned, stiffening a bit, but finally she nodded, taking a step back to let me in. "All right."

It was a relief to step in, the warm, citrusy scent of my mother's countless air fresheners hitting me all at once. It felt like forever since I walked into that, surreal almost, how equally familiar and foreign it was, all the furniture in the exact same spot it was the last time I was here. Or maybe I was just tired, given how much I flopped into my old, wooden seat at the kitchen table, resting my head on a hard edge that had never felt more like a pillow.