As we reached my secret corner, Faith began tearing up some old t-shirts that had been lying around for some time. She fashioned a makeshift bandage and insisted on helping me clean up my wounds.
She gently dabbed at the cuts and bruises on my face with a damp cloth, her touch a comforting contrast to the pain throbbing through my body.
"I'm really sorry this happened to you again, Keinan," she whispered softly, tears welling in her eyes. "I wish things were different for your sake. I wish I could somehow make it all stop."
I wanted to tell her it wasn't her fault, that she had nothing to apologize for, but the words got caught in my throat. Instead, I reached out and took her hand in mine, squeezing it tightly as if to reassure her that I was okay, even when I wasn't.
After some time, Faith finished tending to my wounds. We sat in awkward silence, each lost in our own thoughts. Worry etched onto her face, and I could see the guilt weighing heavily on her shoulders. She blamed herself for what had happened to me, though it wasn't her fault. In truth, she was the only reason I hadn't given up yet.
Faith had been my anchor in the storm I was trapped in for a long time now. But I couldn't tell her that. What if she didn't feel the same? What would I do then?
Eventually, Faith stood up and made her way to the door, her expression unreadable. "I should go," she said quietly, her tone emphatic. "But I'll come back tomorrow, okay? We'll figure something out, I promise."
I nodded, unable to find the words to respond. As Faith walked out of the room, a sense of emptiness washed over me. She was the only light in my dark and lonely reality, and without her, I didn't know what else was worth living for, and that scared the crap out of me.
It was moments like these when the darkness threatened to consume me whole, when I felt like there was no escape from the pain and despair that constantly haunt me.
But somehow, someway, I knew that Faith would always be there to pull me back from the brink of losing myself, to remind me each time that there was still hope, that there is still a tomorrow even in the darkest of hours.
Stolen story; please report.
***
Sometime later, as I approached my rundown dwelling, the knot of anxiety in my stomach tightened. The reason for my dread wasn't just the dilapidated state of my home, but the presence of my parents. Their spite towards me was evident, and merely seeing me seemed to ignite their simmering anger.
Their resentment towards me was painfully obvious. Every time I appeared, their faces contorted with irritation and disappointment, a clear indication that I was the source of their frustration due to my past mistakes. I could practically hear the sharp intake of breath as they caught sight of me, their expressions twisting into masks of disdain.
Facing their disappointment was like staring into a bottomless pit of shame, each glance a reminder of my inadequacies. The weight of their disapproval bore down on me each day, suffocating any hope of redemption.
Dad's voice cut through the tense atmosphere as he saw me coming back home. "I'm going out," he announced abruptly, already walking towards the door.
My heart sank as I avoided his gaze, knowing the look of dismissal he wore as he passed by me. I kept my eyes fixed on the floor, understanding all too well where attempting a conversation would lead.
My mother's eyes flashed with anger when she saw me, her jaw tightening as she turned from the dishes she was scrubbing. "There's some soup in the kitchen. Go and eat it," she said, her voice laced with annoyance, barely concealing her disdain.
"Oh, sure. Thanks, Mom," I replied softly, hoping to ease the tension, but my attempt only seemed to make her angrier.
Suddenly, my mother's temper erupted like a volcano. "Sure? That's all you have to say?" she exclaimed, her voice rising with each word. "You think you can just waltz in here and act like everything's fine? You're a disgrace to be called my son!"
Inside my room, old clothes lay scattered around, and faded comic posters covered the walls. I sank onto my bed, replaying the events of the day in my mind. The prospect of waking up tomorrow filled me with dread. Would every day be like today?
Faith's face filled my thoughts, urging me to keep going because she still believed in me. Smiling at the image of her bright smile, I settled onto my bed. But as I closed my eyes, unease lingered. What if tomorrow brought challenges I wasn't prepared for? What if things only got tougher? These thoughts swirled, keeping me restless as I shifted in bed, trying to find a comfortable position. The uncertainty gnawed at me, evident in my restless movements. Eventually, exhaustion overtook me, and I slipped into a deep, uneasy sleep.