Chapter 1
OSTIAN'S POV
It was a cold, quiet night the kind that feels suspended in time, where even the air seems to hold its breath. I was parked on the side of an empty road, my hands gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing anchoring me.
The windshield streaked with the remnants of rain, blurring the streetlights into soft, unfocused halos. Everything ahead of me: a dark, shapeless stretch. And I didn't just mean the road. I meant life. It all felt foggy, directionless, like I was staring into a future I couldn't make out, no matter how hard I tried.
I had just gotten off the phone with my daughter, Niraya the only source of stability in my life. I'd explained the sudden change happening at work.
"In two weeks, I'll be leaving Ohio for California."
As expected, she was excited. The move meant we could finally live in the same suburb, and since she studies in California, it also meant we'd get to spend more time together.
"You deserve it," she'd said. "A break from whatever Phil has been putting you through."
And God, don't I know. But why do I feel unsettled? Like there's some kind of trouble lingering in the air.
Just then, my eyes caught a lone raindrop sliding down the windshield, tracing a slow, unpredictable path. Absentmindedly, I reached for the wiper switch and flipped it. A drawn-out squeak cut through the night.
If only it were that easy to wipe away the chaos in my life. My hand hovered over the ignition. After a long breath, I turned the key and started the car. The engine hummed to life. As I pulled onto the road.
Being a single father of two hadn't been easy especially with one in college and the other in high school. My job had been the lifeline, to giving them everything I never had. So when my boss said,
"We're moving to California,"
I didn't hesitate, even though I knew that meant leaving everything behind.
I'd been Mrs. North's chauffeur for twenty years that's half my life. And truly, She had been a steady presence, and incredibly generous. Especially after my wife passed. Not many chauffeurs earns five figures a month in Ohio. So, yeah thanks to her, Niraya's future looks bright, and she's grateful. Philip, not so much.
Which brings me to the hard part:
How am I supposed to tell Philip I’m moving to California... and that he has to move too but not with me?
I had played out this scenarios different dozens way and in every version, none ended well. That had been my reality for the last four years. Me trying to navigate every conversation with Philip as if it were a minefield, hoping to find a path that would leave us both unscathed.
I finally pulled into the driveway, but something felt off. Thudding bass and strange, chaotic noises spilled from the house muffled but unmistakable. As I stepped out of the car, the noise grew louder. I hurried fast toward the front door, and then it became a full-on roar.
Pushing the door open, and there, It hit me like a wave. Heat. Smoke. Music blasting so loud it rattled in my chest. A thick haze of fog and cigarette smoke hung in the air, twisting through strobe lights and shadows. The floor was a mess of liquor bottles, red plastic cups, and god-knows-what else. And in the middle of it all were young girls, barely dressed, dancing wildly in the chaos.
What in the world was happening here? I muttered to myself, more confused than anything. Is this still my home?
Pushing through the unfamiliar crowd, at the far end of the room, I spotted Philip with some other boys, slouched in a corner with cigarettes dangling from their lips. In front of them knelt a younger boy, blood dripping from his thumb.
Why is there so much blood?
Wait... was that a.....
I froze.
"Philip!" I screamed, panic flooded me. He didn't react, rather he looked up at me with an almost bored expression, like I was nothing more than an annoyance.
I rushed over to the boy. "Oh my God," I kneeled next to him. His thumb was severed, and he was shaking profusely in his own little pool of blood.
"Who did this? Someone call 911!"
I screamed again, but my voice was drowned out by the music blaring from the speakers. No one seemed to hear me. Or more like they did but partied on.
I tore off a piece of my shirt and wrapped it tightly around the boy's thumb, trying to stop the bleeding. He kept murmuring that it wasn't a big deal, that I was making it worse for him. Making what worse? I didn't understand. It was obvious he needed help, so I ignored his words and kept going.
"Who did this?" I asked again, expecting an answer but no one said a word.
I looked up at Philip. He did this. Of course he did this. I wasn't fooling anyone. I wasn't ignorant of his despicable acts But I had no idea it was this bad. we were severing thumbs now?
I finished wrapping up the wound, still stunned. His usual bored expression showed not a trace of remorse.
I ignored him, and reached for my phone, held the boy's injured hand with the other.
"Drop the fucking phone, Ostian,"
Philip growled.
I flinched, nearly dropping the phone in surprise.
"He's going to bleed out!"
"He looks fine to me," he muttered, glancing over at the boy.
"Do you need 911?" he asked him.
The boy, whispered a No shakily , "I'm fine, Mr. Ortiz... I... I...don't need 911..." he added.
Philip leaned back, clearly unfazed.
"You see. He's fine."
"What's wrong with you!!" I snapped, standing up to him.
"Shut the fuck up!" he barked, rising to his feet with the same intensity, his fury far surpassing mine. Without warning, he closed the gap between us like we were squaring off in a ring.
His breath hot on my face, his chest nearly pressed against mine. The sheer intensity of his anger made my shoulders lock up
Then, slowly and deliberately, he repeated the words, each one laden with venom.
"Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Ostian."
Everywhere went quiet. The music had stopped. I hadn't even noticed until that moment. The silence was so complete, you could hear a pin drop.
His imposing presence continued to loom over me. Yes that. I swallowed hard, trying to mask my unease.
Philip stood well over six feet tall, broad-shouldered and solid traits I could never have passed down. At five-seven, I felt the height difference acutely. And in moments like this, I was painfully reminded of my place in his life.
But he was still my son.
I slowly took a step back. Just like I always did right before things got bad.
I glanced around at the mess in my living room. it's was a complete disaster. He wasn't even a young adult yet, still three months away from that. Being close up to him now, I finally register the smell. This wasn't cigarette, It's weed. How'd he manage to get his hands on those?
I cleared my throat, trying to regain control of the situation.
"Party's over. Everyone out," I announced, but no one moved. "Or I'll call the cops."
At that, they all scrambled, scattering toward the exits.
Philip clicked his tongue, pulling my attention back to him.
"Bring him to my room," he said.
His friends began lifting the injured boy.
"He needs a hospital. He doesn't go into your room Philip. He gets help."
"Don't try me, Ostian," he warned.
I glanced down at the boy, whose eyes were brimming with tears. For a moment, I was transfixed by his expression.
When Philip noticed my attention on the boy, he tilted his head down, attempting to reestablish eye contact with me. Our gazes locked again, and I was struck by the coldness in his eyes.
"He stays... with me,"
I knew in that moment it was his final warning and that I shouldn't push it any further.
"It's Dad! I'm your father! Not Ostian, not just anyone to you!" I boomed on that.
Yes, I've lost, but I didn't want to just walk away. This should be the moment I call the cops, firmly stand my ground against him, but I couldn't. the last time I'd threatened that, he made Niraya pay. It was so bad she had to be home schooled. Cause no school would take her.
"You'll pay," he told me that evening, and he wasn't joking. The next day, he planted a firearm in Niraya's backpack before school, and she ended up getting expelled. The incident caused a massive uproar in our little neighborhood, and it would forever remain a stain on Niraya's path.
This was now something I swore I'd never let her go through again not if I could help it. She didn't deserve that.
No one deserved what Philip had become. Expelled from five different schools in the past three years. I'd lost count of how many parents came to me, complaining about my son bullying theirs. I'd lost count of the reports, meetings, and complaints filed against him. I couldn't even begin to comprehend what was going on in his mind.
There was one incident where he beat up a classmate so badly, the kid ended up in a coma for two months with broken ribs, legs, and who knows what else. When the kid finally woke up and was asked how he got the injuries, he said he had fallen down the school stairs. But of course, that was a lie. I could tell, especially after the other parents went on a rant about how their kids couldn't snitch because Philip would likely make things worse for them down the road.
And that made me wonder how much worse he had gotten. Had he killed someone? I wouldn't put it past him at this point. How a seventeen year-old boy is capable of some of the most despicable things I've ever witnessed in my years of living is a question I will never be able to answer. I can only hope he hasn't crossed that line yet. And this is a story among many others.
A nightmare is what he had become.
He blew a puff of weed in my face, snapping me back to reality.
I looked down at the boy's severed thumb, "You need to pick that up if you at least still intend on having a thumb." Just my little advice.
With that, I made my way out of the apartment, making sure I didn't trip on the bottles scattered across the floor. However this turns out, I didn't want a part in it.
But what about the boy? you ask. And what about Niraya? Like I said, I'd do everything I could to make sure she never has to deal with Philip again.
He would be an adult soon, so if he commits a crime, sure he could do the time.
I drove to a nearby motel and checked in. That's when I remembered I still hadn't told him about the move. That would have to wait till tomorrow.
