Chapter Fifty

Space separates us, but it's not enough. There will never be a quantifiable unit of measurement for how much space I need away from him. Of the space we do have, it's clear that he can close it in a few bounding steps. I just hope in his intoxicated state, that I have enough time to move. Those swaying movements he makes every time he tries to right himself tell me enough—if I can time this right then I'll be able to make a break for it.

I realize then that everything that I am has been for this one single moment. This is either my final chapter, or just the lead-on to the second act of my life. And I pray that it's the latter because I'll admit it, I'm not ready to die just yet.

The moment between us passes, leaving us both motionless. Neither one of us is prepared to make the first move. If I jump into action, then it gives him a reason to chase. If he starts coming for me, then it's all the excuse I need to make a run for it. Whilst his eyes are glazed over, there's a cold, calculating look behind them that tells me everything I need to know. And the message projects loud and clear.

You will not escape me.

"Put the phone down," he demands, his voice a low growl. Just to show that he's not playing around, he shows off a set of snarling slightly-yellowed teeth. But he doesn't move. The entire weight of his body is slung against the doorframe.

I don't respond. Hell, I don't even follow through with what he's asking of me. There's a soft made ukulele ballad of some sort playing in my ear, and I can tell Xavier hasn't hung up. Like always, he's still there when I need him the most. Even in this darkest hour, he stands true to any promise he made.

A low and sudden breath leaves my lungs.

This is my opportunity. I cannot, will not, let anything hold me back.

In one quick scrambling step, I reached down for the duffle and pushed myself off the bed. Heavy footsteps gave him away, but right now I still had the advantage of being at the other side of the bed. The curtains blew softly against the night air at first, before completely folding to the change in pressure as the window opened fully.

His hand reached out and scuffed against my leg, trying to pull me back. Fortunately he had missed, and it was the only sign I had that things were supposed to be this way.

I didn't stop for him, or for anyone. My feet bounced as they hit against the window sill, sending me careening over the small ledge outside onto the cold, hard ground. In spite of bracing for the fall, everything hurt. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I somehow managed to get up relatively quickly and scramble forward a few more meters before rising to my feet. A hard thump, behind me told me that I probably only had a few feet on him.

Every step I took was filled with a desire to break free, whilst every step he took was merely to hunt me down.

I continued forward, soon reaching the sidewalk and hearing that relentless thud as my sneakers hit asphalt. My chest was practically heaving, begging me to slow down a little so that it could catch a breath. But I couldn't do that; if I stopped now it was going to be a complete game over.

Truth be told, I couldn't even tell you how far I made it. A mile? A thousand feet? Ten feet? However far I made it, I knew that it was never enough when I felt my body crash against the pavement.

A mixture of weariness and exhaustion had caused me to slip up—both figuratively and literally. The ground was cool against my face, and for a few moments I forgot why I was even on the ground in the first place. Clarity had struck me in such a weird way that nothing else in that one specific moment seemed to matter to me

It seemed short-lived though, as just seconds later, I felt tight hands grip my messy mane. His cold fingers looped through my curls and held me against the ground tight. My nose became crushed underneath the concrete. A knee placed squarely on my back prevented me from moving, not that my limp ass would do so anyway at this point in time. The chill that had been so prevalent before returned with a vengeance, making every thought in my head stutter with absolute uncertainty. It was only made worse when I could feel his cold breath on the back of my neck, eyes boring into the back of my skull.

"Did you really think you could run from me ya little queer?" The word doesn't affect me as much as it should. I hear these sorts of insults all the time, and for the longest time I've imagined him saying them to me. It makes it hurt less when I do. "Did you really think you had a shot in hell of making it past me."

His words have that glossy varnish to them, like he's been thinking this for the longest time. My escapism, and his need to keep me here are in direct conflict, so it wouldn't surprise me if he had been saving this speech.

I squirm a little, trying to wrestle my hands out from under his imposing grip. The more I fight, the stronger he becomes.

The eyes of others are the only things I can feel so vividly. For years they've done their best to ignore the Vega's because it was always behind closed doors. This time though, it was under the moonlit night, practically in the middle of the street. Dogs barked from somewhere off in the distance, as light flooded windows softly. Those silhouettes I could make out in the past seemed less rigged and more concerned this time.

They wouldn't openly interfere. This was my worry.

As it turns out, I didn't need to worry much about that. In the distance, I could hear it. A few faint hurried footsteps. And then they became louder. And louder. And even louder still. And then it felt like they were right over me. Ad finally a completely different, but still recognizable sound—bone colliding against bone. The mere sound of it made me wince in pain, despite me not being the punching bag for once in my life.

Suddenly, his grip lessened. A pained roar left his mouth as now his knee fell off of my back. "Sunova..." he started, muffled between his hands. The sound he made as he fell back a few yards was almost satisfying.

I rolled onto my back, looking at the scene which had just unfolded; a boy standing inches in front of me with fists curled tightly, and my father a certain instance away, looking almost the definition of 'knocked the fuck out.' My father's eyes were so dark and venomous, almost like two giant black holes ready to suck in any sort of hope that I might have had. With a single movement, he swiped at his nose, leaving a red trail across his face.

"What the actual fuck kid," he said, staring up at the figure. His frown was serious but his body language remained calm for the time being.

Without even pausing for a moment to think, the boy had his finger pointed down at my dad. "You do not get to do that," he spoke with a quivering tone that seemed to betray his rock-steady posture. "You do not get to put your hands around him like that," Xavier said a little louder, the voice now ringing loud and clear in my skull.

When he tried to assemble himself back together, pulling everything that he was back onto his feet, Xavier slipped back a pace. Amateur and sort of Rookie mistake with my father. There was something about him that fed on that instinct of fear; it allowed him to grow stronger and stronger. That dangerous look in his eyes seemed to say it all. The wheels in his head were turning quickly, probably imagining how many bounds it would take to clear the gap.

"You don't know who you're dealing with here kid," he mused, steadying himself once back on two feet.

Xavier chuckled to himself softly. "I'm dealing with someone who can't pick on someone their own size."

"Xavier," I hissed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"You spend the majority of your life keeping the people who you should care about bubbled in fear," he said, a confident foot forward. The trap was now pulling into effect. "God knows you can't stand anyone who might actually stand up to you. And that's because you're the 'big man.'" God, he was using air quotes and everything. "But I'm telling you right now, you will never lay a fucking hand on him again," he practically demanded. Now he was standing face to face with him, and realistically, there wasn't that much difference height wise between the pair of them.

"And what are you going to do about it?" he questioned in that snarky, bitter tone that seemed to fit for a telenovela villain.

Xavier smiled, before frowning and loading his fist back. Due to inebriation, or perhaps just not expecting it in that moment, he managed to land a gut-punch square in his chest. I honestly wished I had a camera to capture that moment. That sheer unadulterated moment where for once my father had gotten the wind knocked out of him.

"Coming?" Xavier said after a moment, extending his hand out to mines. "The next step of our lives awaits."

And the funny thing is that I don't need to think about taking his hand, I just do.

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