Page 19 of Before We Break Again
“I’m not going,” I say, my voice louder this time, firmer, but my heart races in my chest, thudding like it’s trying to break free.
His eyes narrow, growing darker, his rage barely contained behind the tight lines of his face.He steps even closer.“You are my son.You will do as I say.”
I release a humorless laugh, the sound bitter in the heavy silence.He really thinks I’ll just cave.That I’ll follow through with his plan like I always have, like I owe him my life.
His expression hardens, the fury behind his eyes more visible now.“I made you, you ungrateful fuck.”His words are poisonous, each one dripping with the anger he’s kept bottled up for so long.“And just like I made you, I can tear you apart.You’ll do what I say, and you’ll be the person I want you to be.This time you won’t fail me.”
Fail him.That’s all I ever do in his eyes.No matter how hard I’ve worked, no matter what I’ve achieved, I’ll always be a disappointment.
I want to fight back, to spit his words right back in his face.To tell him that he’s the one who failed me as a father, but I’m so damn tired.Not just physically but emotionally, mentally, in a way that feels bone-deep.
It’s not just the exhaustion of being trapped in this hospital bed, waiting for doctors to decide my fate.It’s the years of being molded and shaped into someone I never wanted to be, someone he wanted.Every piece of me feels worn, like I’ve been fighting battles I didn’t choose, for a life I never wanted.Do I even have the energy left to fight him now, to reclaim what’s mine?
But as I look at him, towering over me with that same imposing figure, something flickers inside me, fragile but unyielding.I meet his gaze, and for the first time in a long while, I don’t back down.Even though my body feels like it’s barely holding itself together, I find strength in the last place I expected.
“No,” I say again, my voice quieter than I’d like but steady.Steadier than it has any right to be.“Not this time.”
The air between us thickens, crackling with tension.Suddenly, everything stands still—he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak.His jaw tightens, the muscles in his face twitching as if he’s struggling to contain something primal, something close to rage.His eyes burn with it, flickering like the start of a wildfire, but he holds it back.Barely.
There’s a part of me that wants to care—that wants to be the son he can be proud of.But I’m not that son, and I never will be.
His lips press into a thin line as he takes a step back, his face a cold mask again.
There’s a flicker in his eyes, a shift in the air between us.For a moment, I think he’s going to lose it.His mask of control slips back into place, but I can see it.The frustration.The anger.
“Leave,” I order.“You’re not welcome in this room—or my life.”
“You’ll regret this,” he says, colder than I’ve ever heard him.“You’re throwing away everything you’ve worked for.Everything I’ve worked for.”
I don’t respond.I just stare up at the ceiling, waiting for him to leave.His footsteps are heavy as he moves toward the door.The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is deafening.
I breathe out slowly, but the tension in my chest doesn’t ease.It sits there, heavy, pressing down on my lungs, making it hard to breathe.I’ve made my choice, but it doesn’t feel like victory.It feels like something’s broken inside me, and I’m not sure it’ll ever be whole again.
I close my eyes, listening to the hum of the hospital around me, wondering if this is how it’s always going to be.Stuck between who I am and who they want me to be, with no way out.
ChapterNine
Santos
I stareat the ceiling for a while after my father leaves, trying to calm the storm in my chest.My phone buzzes on the table beside me.I glance over, seeing Dustin’s name flash across the screen, and my heart skips.This isn’t just a call.It’s a video call.
Not now, Dust.Not.Now.
I can’t deal with him.Not after the conversation I just had with my father.My thumb hovers over the screen, hesitating.I know I shouldn’t.Dustin’s the last person I should talk to when I’m feeling this exposed, but my hand moves almost automatically.I swipe to answer, my reflection fading into his familiar face.
There he is—Dustin Haverbrook.Tousled hair, a thin chain glinting around his neck, those green eyes that always seem to see too much.He’s sitting in what looks like a dimly lit room, a faint smile pulling at his lips like he’s trying to gauge my mood before speaking.
“You don’t look happy,” he says, his voice casual but soft, like he already knows I’m not in the mood for a full conversation.“What happened?”
“Hey,” I mumble, not trusting myself to say more.
The silence hangs between us for a second, Dustin’s eyes searching mine through the screen.“You look like shit and angry.”
A weak laugh escapes me, but it’s hollow.“Yeah, well, it’s been a pretty shitty week.Nothing, and I mean nothing, could make it better.”
He tilts his head lightly as if saying, “I know something that will.”However, he just asks, “You wanna talk about it?”
I shouldn’t.I really shouldn’t.But I do.The words bubble up before I can stop them.“My fucking father was just here.He’s got this plan ...He wants to take me to some rehab center in El Paso.‘Psychological therapy,’ he said...”I trail off, my throat tightening.
