His parents were like all the rest of ours in that they didn’t actually know who he was or all that he aspired to be.
It was… absurd.
More so, it wassad.
Foster was a heart on his sleeve kind of guy. He didn’t hide who he was, and if you wanted to see even a piece of his soul, all you had to waslook.
I think maybe that’s part of the reason he’s dead…. because nobody ever cared enough to look.
* * *
My sneakers clapped against the floor as I ran, the uneven sound bouncing off the brick walls and hitting me twice as hard in the chest. I didn’t care much for being quiet… not anymore. My chest seized, throat spasming as air tried to punch free of my lungs, only to swell and get trapped inside. The walls on either side of me moved like waves beneath my vision, as though my brain lacked what it needed to focus. Color swarmed me, but it was all a blur—as though I was no longer capable ofseeing.
Sweat covered my skin, dripping down my neck and pooling against my palms in a way that made me shiver. When a wave of dizziness swept over me, I nearly tripped over the feet I could no longer feel.
My fingers were weighted, and when they tingled, I wondered if they were even part of my body anymore. I was littering this hallway with all the pieces of myself, my limbs abandoning me the same way my breaths did.
The photos I held at my chest felt like a bomb, ticking louder the fast I ran. The edges slipped against my palm when I rounded a bend in the wall, and I worried if I dropped even one this whole place would blow.
Boom.
I burst into Daddy’s office, the heavy door crashing against the wall behind it. My ears couldn’t distinguish the sound from the thud Daddy’s chair made as it fell to the floor. I saw his lips move right before I collapsed to my knees. One hand tearing at the carpet, I pressed the other to my chest, seizing the fabric that covered it.
I couldn’t breathe.
Photos,my proof, flew through the air like crooked wings, scattering across the space. Daddy’s hand was a beacon, reaching for me as it struggled to pull me from the weight I was buried under.
My throat worked, a harsh, inaudible cry ripping from my lungs when I tore so hard at the carpet, my fingers began to bleed.
Help me.
Help me.
Help me.
Death was here, dragging me into a place that felt more hole than home. My voice broke again, and I struggled to tell Daddy to call somebody.Anybody.
The cops.
An ambulance.
A fucking heart surgeon.
“Sebastian.” He wrapped himself around me, forcing my empty body into his lap. His palm was heavy as it fell against the side of my head. Familiar lips fluttered against a spot in the middle of my forehead, and then he was pressing my ear to the center of his chest. “You’re okay. I promise you’re okay. I’m here with you. Just focus on my breaths, baby, count my heartbeats.”
My vision blurred and sobs wracked my chest, quivering against my lips in a way my words refused to. The shirt he wore was wet with my tears by the time I could start counting the throb I felt beneath it.
One… Two… Three…
“You’re having a panic attack, baby bird. They’re horrible, and they feel like the end, but I promise they’re not. Hang in there, sweetheart. I’m going to help you through this.”
Four… Five… Six…
Reaching for his arm, I wrapped my fingers around the warm, familiar skin. I focused on the colors I saw there and tracing the pretty patterns.
Seven… Eight… Nine…
My own heart knocked against my ribcage, and I rotated just slightly, pressing my chest to Daddy’s so our hearts lined up. With my nose in his neck, I breathed through my mouth and tried to get my beats to sync with his.