A Life Without Sunlight

"Then, I’m leaving." I hoisted up my woven sack.

"Go on, get lost. Go find that gold-digging mother of yours." Dad waved his hand dismissively, like he was shooing away a fly.

Mathias Clark hid behind him, pulling faces at me. His expression was smug, almost triumphant. "Don’t come crawling back later, begging me for money, Ty."

Without saying a word, I smiled and turned to walk into the rain. I hunched my shoulders slightly. The cold seeped in so deep it felt like it was coming from inside my bones.

Honestly, it didn’t matter where I went. I just wanted somewhere quiet, somewhere I could endure whatever time I had left.

No more listening to debt collectors pounding on the door for a gambling addict. No more breathing in that nauseating stench of cheap cigarettes.

Mom’s black Mercedes was parked at the mouth of Maple Alley. The window rolled down, revealing her well-maintained face. She frowned as she looked at me, drenched from head to toe, a trace of disgust flickering in her eyes.

"What happened to you? Get in already. Don’t dirty the car."

I opened the back door and was about to get in.

"Put that bag in the trunk." She pointed at the woven sack in my hand. "It’s filthy. Who knows what kind of bacteria are on it?"

I paused for a moment, but in the end, I still obeyed. I closed the door, walked to the back, and placed the bag in the trunk.

When I got in again, I curled into the corner, careful not to touch the leather seats. The heat in the car was turned up high, but I still felt cold.

"Tyler, when we get there, behave yourself." Mom drove while glancing at me through the rearview mirror. "Jonathan doesn’t like noise. Stay in your room when you have nothing to do.

"Don’t smack your lips when you eat. Don’t drag your feet when you walk. And don’t mention your dad. It’s bad luck."

I watched the rain blur past the window and nodded. "Got it."

Something in my head stabbed again. My vision went dark for a split second. I clenched my teeth and forced myself through the wave of dizziness.

"What’s wrong?" Mom asked, her tone edged with impatience.

"Nothing. Motion sickness."

"Dramatic." She let out a cold snort. "Just like your father. A grown man who can’t handle a little discomfort."

I closed my eyes and swallowed the metallic taste rising in my throat. In my next life, I won’t come back.

The drive lasted five hours. By the time we reached Crestview Heights halfway up the mountain, night had completely fallen. The place was brightly lit, yet eerily silent.

"We’re here." Mom parked the car, touched up her lipstick, and took a deep breath. She was adjusting herself from the sharp, cutting woman she was with me into a gentle, attentive wife.

"Get out. And remember to call him 'Uncle'."

I picked up my woven sack and followed behind her.

A man sat on the living room sofa. A blanket covered his legs, and he held a book in his hands. Hearing us enter, he looked up.

This was my stepfather, Jonathan Hayes.