Teach me to sin II (Sins of the past)

I never thought that I would be able to actually find him. Chicago looked bigger than I’d ever imagined—louder, colder too. I had heard stories of the city but this was nothing close to what I had imagined. On a different day, I would have taken time out to take a tour but that was not why I had traveled two hours here to do. The cab pulled away with a hiss, the driver had left me on the curb after I had paid him and drove off while I stood, staring up at the townhouse like it was some kind of fortress. The windows glowed warm with light, laughter spilling faintly through the walls. Somewhere inside, he was living his perfect little life, without me. Without knowing I even existed. I wondered if I should leave it that way. But mom had asked me to come find him. I tightened my grip on the strap of my duffel, the canvas biting into my shoulder. The slip of paper in my pocket felt heavier than the whole bag. His name was written across it, messy ink smudged from

The nightmare always began with the slam of the door. I would look in the mirror and see that I was small again, no more than seven, standing barefoot on the peeling linoleum of our apartment. I had no idea why my mind projected my image this way. Maybe it was because in that actual moment I felt small. Small and frightened of what was to come. The hallway light cut a yellow line across my mother’s face, catching the streak of mascara she hadn’t wiped away. She looked a mess, the same way that she always did when she had done a line of coke or taken another hit of crack. I hated to look at her when she looked this way and she looked this way quite often. Her suitcase was already by the door, her hand tight on the handle. I move forward, my little hands reaching for her. For the mother that I hoped was still resident in her. "Mom? Mommy, where are you going?" She looked back at me with those eyes I had scared me on one too many occasions—green, sharp, unrelenting w

The days after the truth came out blurred together, strange and unreal, as if I’d stepped into a life that didn’t belong to me.The doctor's words still echoed in my mind. In that moment I was washed with a wave of emotions. Vindication, relief, fear and sadness. I had just found out who my father is but it felt like I had ruined his life.I’d expected Tristan Walker to deny me. To fight the results. To throw me out and tell me never to show my face again. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t embraced me either. Instead, there had been silence—days of it—before his call came in on a cloudy wednesday afternoon. He had not said much but the one that did catch my attention was;“Come and stay with us. It’s… the right thing to do.”The words had been clinical, clipped. It wasn't the ''I want you around'' or ''I'm glad that I finally found my kid" it was just him fulfilling an obligation. An obligation that he was either too decent or guilty to toss aside. And I should have been glad but I was h

The gates of Heldon High gleamed like something out of a movie. Iron wrought into elegant patterns, polished so clean they could’ve been mirrors.Beyond them stretched manicured lawns and a row of buildings that looked more like a college campus than a high school.It was intimidating, yes. But I wasn’t going to let it show.Mom would be so disappointed if I did that.Theo Hecter walked beside me, his posture easy, his blazer unbuttoned, his grin relaxed in a way only someone born into wealth could be.He’d introduced himself as my “student guide,” assigned to show me around. But in truth, I think he was made to do it. Maybe this was his punishment for something he did.“You’ll find Heldon… different,” he said as we passed glass walls, ivy-draped pillars, and marble floors that gleamed beneath our shoes. “We have a lot of traditions here. People tend to keep to their circles.”“Circles, huh?” I asked, raising a brow.Theo smirked.“Rich kids don’t exactly make the friendliest crowd. I

The cheap motel room smelled like rot. Not the sharp, clean rot of fresh garbage, but something older, something that clung to the walls no matter how hard the maids scrubbed. Cigarette smoke, mildew, and the faint sweetness of spilled liquor—every breath reminded me I had hit rock bottom a long time ago.I sat cross-legged on the stiff mattress, legs jittering, the glow of the crack pipe still burning in my hand. My throat was raw. My lips cracked. The hit still buzzed behind my eyes, numbing me, stretching reality thin enough that for a moment—just a moment—I could pretend none of this was happening.But the high never lasted.That was the most addictive part. I get the best dopamine rush that I had ever experienced and just as soon as it came, it left. And then I do everything in my power chasing the same high.The silence in the room wasn’t silence at all. Pipes groaned inside the walls. A couple argued in the room next door then had sex. A baby wailed somewhere far down the hal