Playing with Fire

e p i s o d e | t w e n t y - f i v e (pt. 2)

I sit in the dimly-lit bar with one hand against my pulsing head and the other on a shot glass. The bartender just shakes his head at me, wiping his hands against the sides of his pants.

"Hawthorne," he says to me. "Snap out of it, would you? If you start getting overly-wasted, people are going to realize that you're underage."

I wave him off irritably. "You've been doing this for me since I was fourteen, Winston. Let it go."

He rolls his eyes. "I only did it for you since I've known you as a child." He glances around to make sure that no one else is listening. "What happened, though? You didn't make an appearance here for a few weeks, and now you're drinking as though you've lost your mind."

"Did you hear that my dad escaped jail?"

Winston stiffens and turns around. "Yeah, kid. I saw it on the news. I'm sorry about that. I hope they catch him soon." He lets out a long sigh and leans against the bar towards me. "Is that why you're here?"

"Sort of." I take another shot of alcohol and shake my head quickly. "God, I hate my life."

"I'll take it that something else happened." Winston snorts and removes the cup from my grip. "And this is your quota for the day. You're going to crash otherwise."

"I walked here," I grumble woozily. "Give it back."

He reluctantly sighs and hands it back to me. "I hate the fact that this place is ten minutes away from your house. I remember when your dad would come here every night, and then –" He abruptly stops when he notices that I'm glaring at him. "Okay, okay, Hawthorne. No need to look so angry. Just know that I'm going to at least ask for a fake ID from now on, if you consistently start showing up again."

"I probably will," I agree.

Winston shakes his head. "Seriously, though. What happened? When you were little, you kept yelling at your father saying that you never wanted to come back here."

"I didn't have as many problems back then," I respond.

"You know, usually when these things happen, I attribute it to a girl." Winston slides a bottle of whisky to a customer on the other side of the bar. "But I know your reputation. You're not one to get hung up over a girl. So, why the hell are you here?"

I just let out a long breath as I peer absentmindedly into the distance. Anna's face when she had read the paper had been so ... defeated. It wasn't even angry, or shocked. She just looked absolutely petrified. It was the worst possible expression I could have seen her make.

"Not going to tell me, huh?" Winston just rolls his eyes. "Well, whatever, kid. Whether it's bad grades or murder, just know that I had nothing to do with this."

"Winston, what would you do if your father killed someone else's parents? How would you ever be able to repay that debt?" I ask him, by now only half-conscious.

He snaps his fingers at me. "Hey. Forget about it. It's not your fault that your father's insane."

I groan in agony. "I fucking hate being related to that bastard."

"I feel you, kid. I'm sorry for you." Winston shakes his head. "I feel like you would have turned out to be fairly normal otherwise."

I glare at him, before taking out a handful of cash and placing it on the table. "Whatever," I say. "See you later."

"Hopefully not soon!" he calls to me, as I wobble out of the bar.

The night sky is dark and absolutely clear – reminiscent of the night at the party that spurred Anna and my relationship. I remember feeling my heart race when she hugged me, and how much self-control I'd mustered up to stop myself from kissing her.

I sloppily walk to my house, taking twenty minutes for what would have normally been a ten-minute walk. Just as I'm about to reach for the doorknob, however, I hear something rustling behind me. I lazily turn around, blinking my eyes with great difficulty. "Who's there?" I call out.

"Rowan."

The voice sends chills through my spine. My mind nearly sobers just by hearing it. A hooded man walks towards my driveway from across the street, having been hidden by the shadows.

"Rowan," he says again. When he looks up at me, I see an all-too-familiar face smiling in my direction. He's gotten older, scrawnier ... but he's undoubtedly who I think he is.

"Get away from me," I snarl at him.

He just continues grinning at me. "Son, you've grown so much. How long has it been since I last saw you?"

"I'm not your son," I spit. I don't know what it is that's rushing through my veins right now. Fear? Fury? I place on hand on the phone in my pocket. "I'm going to call the cops right now, if you don't leave."

"I'll leave," he says amiably. "I'll leave, if you come with me."

"I'm not going anywhere with you." I pull my cell phone out. "Get the hell away from me!"

He backs away, slowly disappearing into the darkness again. The words that come out of his mouth next shake me to the core.

"We'll be together again soon."