Epilogue | The Next Journey

VIERNES

7:59 PM

Reid Harlow

The first thing I noticed when I came home for dinner was Presley wasn't here.

Nini said he got caught up at school, due to some extracurricular activities he had to attend to, but I knew that was a fucking lie.

He just didn't want to see me.

The absence of his presence was noted, and I couldn't stop myself from sparing glances at the empty seat, but having spent some time around the table and catching up with everything going on with the rest of my family, it helped dragged me away from most of my thoughts. We discuss the most relevant things: how moving in with Dahlia has been, when will Claudia finish her program, and Ariah's new dance recitals.

After finishing, we headed to the backyard for some outdoor adventures. Sebastian and Nini are watering the plants, with some help from Claudia and Ariah, while Nico wanted to sit with me.

He asked me to read one of his books.

It was a comic book I wasn't too familiar with—and to be honest, not that interested in—but when Nico stared at me with his green eyes and a pout that reminded me awfully of a dog, I couldn't resist. Plus, I left him to pursue a relationship that wasn't worth it in the end—so I guess this is my trial and error of making it up to him.

We sat under the pavilion and Nico wanted to sit on my lap. The graphic is spread out before us, on the table, as Nico is eagerly leaning over the table trying to admire the drawing. I had the responsibility of reading the font.

"Hey," I look up, mid-sentence in the comic, to spot Claudia sliding into a seat. Her eyes are trained on me, a hand on the armrest, as she studies the interaction between Nico and me.

"Hey." I greet back in return, turning back to the comic and finishing the last line before placing my full attention on my sister. "You finished helping Nini?"

"Yup," she nods, glancing over her shoulders, "and to be honest, she didn't really need help—as you could probably see."

I follow her gaze to spot Nini and Sebastian having a blast with the hose. Sebastian somehow managed to obtain the tube and begin spraying Ariah and Nini with the nozzle. They're running around like children, with laughter in the air, while Nini is struggling to get her gardening utensil.

I chuckle at the sight, and Claudia's gaze returns back to me. While Nico is busy flipping through the pages and spoiling most of the action that happens within the next few pages, my sister stares at me with an intense gaze—trying to study me.

"You know you don't have to fucking do that anymore. You can just ask me."

She snaps out of her thoughts. "Right," she sucks air through her teeth, "it's a habit."

I roll my eyes. "I don't have anything else to hide. You basically know all of me."

"I'm just used to you having your guard up," she confesses, "when you're willing to tell me something... it feels weird. Off. Like you have another secret you're hiding."

"I learned Spanish."

"I know that." She says with a roll of her eyes. I smiled half-heartedly.

"Dahlia didn't. She was half-surprised, half-upset I didn't tell her early."

"Did you tell her why?"

"Yeah," I nod, "and that's when she forgave me."

Claudia shakes her head, a small smile lingering on her lips. "I like that girl. I think she's good for you."

I couldn't stop the smile of my own. "I like her too. That's why we're together."

She scoffs in return, and flips me off with her finger, before recognizing a minor presence in our midst. Her eyes widened and she quickly lowered her hand, tucking it under the other.

The silence returns back on us, and nothing was heard except for the event unfolding behind us—with Nini finally managing to obtain the hose and spraying it on Sebastian in retaliation. I can't believe they're fostering five kids.

"Presley's not really at school, is he?"

The girl before me goes rigid. It takes her a second before she looks back at me.

"Harlow..."

"I know he's upset with me." I say earnestly, "but I didn't think he would skip family dinner to ignore me. That's an extreme I didn't think he'll reach."

Claudia fidgets with the string of her shirt, dangling from the neckline, but she doesn't say anything at first. Her eyes search for mine with an unreadable expression—a therapist technique. "This...this is the second time someone he loves has left him."

"Is the first one being his boyfriend?"

"No." She shakes her head, "his best friend. Someone who he considered his brother."

I don't say anything.

"Presley deals with trauma differently than you do. It's not your fault, it's just the way he copes. I tried to get him into therapy, and he went, but... it's hard for him. He doesn't open up in moments of explosions, or anger." She holds a pause, keeping my gaze. "He doesn't open up at all."

"Isn't that unhealthy?"

"A lot of shit we do is unhealthy, and we try to fix it when we recognize it's a problem." She explains, "but to him, it's not a problem. It's easier for him to just keep it in. You have to give him time."

I take a moment to consider her words, wholeheartedly. I know I'm not the most patient person in the world, and my reactions are meant with impulse. But, for Presley Young, I'm willing to try. For my brother, I'll give him time.

"Okay," I nod. "Time. I can do that. I have a lot of that."

Claudia smiles gently at me, leaning over to take my hand in hers. "I'm really glad you're a part of this family, Harlow. I'm happy you're my brother."

"I'm happy to be here too."

And this time, I meant it.

━━━━━

VIERNES

11:24 PM

Reid Harlow

It feels odd not going to this bench without a cigarette.

I can catch the faint outline of a body slumping against the park bench, her eyes drifting to the night sky with the stars twinkling up above. I spotted her car down at the lot, hot and recent from use. I didn't miss a couple of boxes set in the backseat.

She sported her signature jean jacket, tightening it around her body to preserve her from the breeze of the spring night, and her head is pressed against the wooden seat, taking my spot, to watch the stars. Her body raggedly but relaxed, her shoulders slumped.

"Hey," I say softly, causing her to jump up from her spot. Dahlia turns to me, her big doe eyes wide, a hand on her heart, before she relaxes to the sight of me, shoulders falling back.

"You scared me," she says, just as I slip into the open seat she freed. I give her an apologetic look. Her eyes followed me. "How was dinner with the family?"

"Good," I answer, to which she responded with a pointed look. A sigh escapes me, "Presley wasn't there."

"Oh,"

"Yeah," I slump back against the seat, "I don't want to think about it."

Dahlia doesn't say anything in return, and instead, slips back onto the seat, resting her head against my lap. My body reactively goes rigid, shoulders tight, muscles constrict. Until, I remembered, I saw this girl head-to-toe naked and the same goes for me. All anxiety and fear of crossing the line has already been overdue—we're thousands of miles away from that border.

So, my body relaxes, calming, and Dahlia comfortably shifts her head to catch the sights of the stars again, a gentle sigh escapes her as her eyes dance back and forth.

"I saw my dad again."

I listen. "And?"

"He looks pathetic." She confesses, "his face is ragged, like he hasn't shaved in months, his clothes are wrinkled, and he reeks of overcooked ramen and a faint smell of alcohol. I think he's losing it."

"Good. I hope he fucking chokes on his next drink."

She gives me a look. I shut up.

"It's not that," she says, with what I could decipher as a hint of sadness. "It's just—I feel bad for him. Even after all the things he's done to me, all the bad stuff, and the trauma—he's still my dad. That type of guilt doesn't just go away."

I don't respond.

"He talked to me." She continues, her fingers fidgeting with one another. Tempted. "He broke down and apologized, asked me to come back, to bring my mom back, and I just..."

"Don't tell me you said yes."

"Of course not." She says, almost offended. "But I... I won't lie and say I didn't think about it."

"Dahlia..."

"Thoughts are not the same as actions, Harlow, you know this," she declares, shifting her gaze from the stars to me. From this view, she is imperfect—I could see a slight fat under her chin, her cheeks are puffy, and her eyes are wide—but fuck, she's still the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and I'm so fucking glad she's my girl.

"If thoughts were actions, I would be dead right now."

And there's a pause. "I almost wanted to be dead by now."

There's a large silence that's weighed over us, and I could see Dahlia sucking in her cheeks, her fingers crushing each other inside her palm. She looks everywhere but me, but the confession was real and honest. I can't resent her for that.

There's so many things I wanted to say—that she has grown so much since the first time I met her, that she managed to escape an abusive household and is lively, but none of them float to the surface of my tongue.

It wasn't enough. She knew all of that. She knew the hell she went through and she knew the cost of it all. She knows all of that.

But there's one minor detail she forgets. Sometimes, all of us forgets.

My hand travels down and takes her hand, unraveling them from her fidgety production, moving them up her chest, passing her stomach, and placing it against the skin of her heart.

It takes a second, but soon enough, I could feel the own hums of her heartbeat, the subtle thumps of one, two, three.

"Dahlia Miyares, you are definitely alive."

THE END