Bound by Fang and Claw

Going back home didn’t feel like the right thing to do. None of it did. I’d been gone for five, nearly six years, and then I got the phone call.

Rain battered down and I could barely see the road through the thick mist that skirted the back lanes. The moon overhead, hung just above the trees, barely helped at all. My radio had cut out over an over before, with no signal out there in the middle of nowhere, leaving me with nothing but my thoughts. My worries. Everything that I’d ever said or done wrong, with nothing to distract me.

Going back home wasn’t the right thing to do. It couldn’t have been. But there I was, on the way back to a place that wouldn’t be the same again, with nobody there to welcome me, nothing there but bitter memories and regret. Would things even still be where they were left, all those years ago? Would I find myself walking back into a house that held memories but no familiarity?

I shook my head and kept driving.

The world passed by in a blur as I maneuvered down the winding paths, hearing loose branches scratching the shitty paintwork on my old car. My ears perked as I heard something underneath the car, and I paused for a moment as I slammed on the breaks. Did I hit something?

My grip around the steering wheel tightened, and I glanced out of the window. If I got out to check, then I might save an animal’s life, but would it even be worth it? The back roads were dangerous at night, even more so when it was raining, and I’d be potentially trading my life for that of an injured animal. I decided against it, and kept on driving even though my heart raced in my chest. I was certain I hit nothing.

I managed to push the thoughts of a dead animal to the back of my mind as I kept driving. Another ten, twenty minutes later, I reached the turning for my grandma’s house. It wasn’t too much further; I just had to make it there in one piece. With each minute, anxiety grew in my blood. Going back there…

I would’ve done anything to shut the voices in the back of my mind up.

I hovered outside the house for a while before I got the courage to actually enter it. The smell of wet grass and pine filled my nostrils as I stepped out of my car and slammed the door behind me. I jogged towards the front door, and when I finally got there, my lips parted as I sighed, glancing over my shoulder. In the dark, it looked how it always did. Maintained. Green. A row of delicate flowers gracing the front yard and a full mailbox that my grandma never remembered to check. It was the only part of having her own home that my grandma hated.

A small smile crept across my face as I put the key into the lock, paused, and then finally pushed the door open. Darkness sprawled across the entire house, and the scent of dust was heavy in the air. Dust and something else, something sharp, bitter, like tea that’d been left out for too long. I entered the house uneasily, not certain of what I’d find. When I flicked the light switch on, I realized that the house in front of me was the home of my youth. Exactly the same. The same dull wainscoting, the same artificial flowers in a glass vase in front of the door, the pair of shoes in front of the door. Everything was the same, and that just made me feel worse.

This was no longer my grandmother’s home, but as I made my way through the rooms, one by one, it felt like she might turn up at any moment. The place had been picked clean, mostly. The cleaning crew had gone over everything she owned, which wasn’t much, and taken care of moving the things I didn’t need. They’d left her room untouched, and they left mine in the state they found it. The rest of the place, despite the uncomfortable silence, felt as if she’d just picked a bunch of stuff up to move.

I made my way upstairs, my fingers dragging along the chipped paint on the handrail. When I entered her room, pressure built in my chest. Pain, nausea, dizziness. Years of regret bubbled to the surface. Her bed was freshly made, as beautiful as ever. Her vanity sat with her hairbrush and makeup still there, ready to be used. Underneath the window, a book nestled beneath a knitted blanket, bookmark there, ready for her to read the next page. The scene in front of me made me feel sick. Not because of anything she’d done, but because of what I’d done.

My back pressed against the wooden door behind me, and my breathing hitched as I swallowed hard. A throbbing sensation hit the sides of my skull, and my body dragged against the door until finally, I met the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks. She’d done everything for me, and there I was, alone, after letting her die without a single person there to comfort her in those last hours. She’d never be there to make me some brownies when everything felt wrong anymore, would she? My grandmother had moved on to a hopefully better place, and I couldn’t even be bothered to say goodbye to her. God, I was an idiot. Foolish. Cruel.

My body trembled as all those thoughts came back to me. Bitterness had clawed its way into my soul before I left, and despite everything she did for me, I abandoned her when she wanted me. She was crazy, I’d said. Losing her mind. And then, just like that, she was gone. And I was never going to see her again.

I let myself grieve for what felt like an age before I finally stood up and ran my hands down my face. I wasn’t going to let this day be a total disaster.

I slipped out of the taxi and shielded myself from the rain as I stepped into the bar. It wasn’t a far drive at all, but I was thoroughly intending to get absolutely wasted before I went home - and I didn’t exactly trust myself to drive in the rain down those awful country lanes after I’d been drinking.

The bar was wholly alive with noise and chatter, with a low-volume song playing in the background. I could barely make out much of anything, but I managed to push my way up to the bar. “Vodka soda,” I said, sliding my ID across the bar. He nodded and turned away to make my drink. My waist leaned against the counter as I turned, trying to see if there was anyone I recognized. It was a busy night, and all those faces seemed to blur together as my eyes darted around, trying to find a friend, an enemy, someone that I knew from way back when.

A finger tapped my shoulder, and I jumped.

“Alley?”

I turned to face the familiar voice. “Holy shit, Roman?”

He smirked, running a hand across his jaw as he looked me up and down. “What the fuck are you doing back here?”

I shook my head. “You know Sheila died, right? Well, the house is mine, and I guess I had some unfinished business to take care of before this place is done with me.” My lips curved upwards into an uncomfortable smile. The bartender handed me my drink, and I wrapped my fingers around the cold glass and my lips around the small, black straw. The vodka burned as it hit the back of my throat, clearly made stronger than I’d been used to out in New York.

“Yeah, I heard. Sorry about your grandmother; she was a good woman,” Roman said, clearing his throat. He sat down beside me on a bar stool and ordered himself a beer. “You staying?”

I nodded, barely able to look at him. “For a while, I guess. Not sure how long I’ll be here, but I needed something to get me out of the house tonight.” He looked me up and down before laughing. “What?”

“You just haven’t changed a bit.”

He hadn’t either. Roman had always had youthful good looks, and he still did, even now that he was nearing thirty. He looked closer to twenty-one, twenty-two, than he did to twenty-seven. “You haven’t. It’s good to see you, I’m sorry about leaving the way I did.”

Roman grabbed his beer and beckoned me to follow him. I did. We made our way around the bar and out into the back alley, which doubled up as an outdoor drinking area. It was narrow, with a few tables and chairs down the entire length, but it was quiet, if not freezing fucking cold.

“You don’t need to apologize for something you did over half a decade ago, Alley. It was a long time ago, I think we’re all over it.”

My face burned. “I know, but I still feel like what I did was wrong, and, you know… this whole thing with my grandmother, it’s made me realize how badly I fucked up.” I finished off my drink and leaned against the hard concrete behind me. “How’s the family?”

Roman shrugged, his demeanor shifting instantly. He paused, his eyes darting around his drink as he thought about what to say. “Mom died last year.”

I nodded slowly. His mother was a good woman, sometimes. She wasn’t entirely the best mother, but she meant well. He’d always had a complicated relationship with her, and as kids, we’d spent so much time at my grandmother’s place that it often felt like he was my brother more than my friend. But he loved her as much as any kid could love their mother. “Wow, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“How could you have known? You were way off in New York or God knows where. None of us even had a way to contact you.” Roman’s eyes flicked up to meet mine. “That was out of order, Alley. I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just been rough since you left, you were the only person that ever really got me.”

With each word, I felt worse. Roman wasn’t saying anything new or unjust, but he was reminding me I’d left them without so much as a goodbye. “I know. You don’t have to apologize either, but you know, I had my reasons. I’m trying to leave all this stuff behind, you know? I’m not here to cause any problems or bring up any old hurt.”

“I know that.”

He leaned against the wall opposite me and pulled a carton of cigarettes from his pocket. Roman lit one, and I held my hand out for him to pass one in my direction. He did, and I leaned over for him to light it for me. Warmth from the small flame burned my nose as wind hit us from all directions, and as I inhaled, I closed my eyes. Being back home was a mistake.