OSTIAN'S POV
It's a quiet, cold night, the kind where the air feels heavy with an unshakable stillness. Sitting in my car, my hands grip the steering wheel, my eyes focused on the dark road ahead. The windshield, streaked with droplets from a recent rain, distorts the streetlights, making them blur in the distance. I can't make out anything ahead. I mean, I can't make anything of where life is headed for me.
I had just gotten off the phone with my daughter, Niraya, the only source of stability in my life right now. I explained the sudden changes happening at work. "In two weeks, I'll be leaving Ohio for California," I told her. As expected, she was excited about the news. This move would allow us to live in the same suburbs, and since she goes to the University of California, it meant we'd be able to spend more time together.
"You deserve it," she said. "A break from whatever Phil has you going through you need a break, Dad."
And oh, don't I know that. But why do I feel unsettled? Like there's some kind of trouble lingering in the air.
Suddenly, my eyes catch a lone raindrop sliding down the windshield, cutting through the misty film that had settled, tracing a slow, unpredictable path, splitting and rejoining as it moves. I reach for the wiper switch and flip it without thinking. If only it were that easy to erase all the chaos in my life. I wince at the drawn-out squeak from the wipers, glancing at the now-cleared glass. The silence returns. The road stretches on ahead, dark and endless. I start the car and set off on the drive home, my mind wandering as I try to figure out how to tell my son about the sudden change that's about to affect both our lives.
Being a single father isn't easy, especially when you're providing for a kid in college and another in high school. With the help of my job, I've done everything I can to give my kids the best. Supporting Niraya through college has been my greatest achievement, something every father hopes for. So when my boss called and said, "We're moving to California," I didn't hesitate to agree even though it means leaving my son behind. Niraya's future is at stake, and so is Philip's, even if he acts like he doesn't have one.
I've worked as Mrs. North's personal chauffeur for 20 years my entire life, really. At this point, I consider myself part of the North family. Mrs. North has been a steady rock for us, especially after my wife passed away four years ago. She's been nothing but generous. I mean, how many chauffeurs earn five figures a month in Ohio? None that I know of. Niraya's future looks bright, thanks to her, and she's incredibly grateful to Mrs. North. Philip, on the other hand, not so much.
Which brings me back to the difficult part. how do I tell Philip that I'm leaving for California and that he'll have to move too, but not with me? I can see this playing out several ways, and no matter what route I take, it never ends well in my head. This has been my reality for the last four years me trying to navigate every conversation with Philip in a way that leaves us both unscathed. It never works.
I finally pull into the driveway and park in the garage when loud music and unsettling noises drift from inside the house. My mind races as I try to figure out what's going on. I hurry toward the doorstep, the noise growing louder with every step. As I open the door, the sound hits me full force, now mixed with smoke and fog swirling in the air. Bottles of liquor litter the floor, and girls, barely dressed, are dancing wildly in the chaos.
What in the world is happening here? I mutter to myself, more confused than anything, as I navigate through the chaotic crowd, wondering if this is still my home.
At the far end of the room, I spot Philip sitting in a corner with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. In front of him is a young boy, kneeling, blood dripping from his thumb. Why is there so much blood? Wait..... is that a finger on the floor? I freeze, heart pounding.
"Philip!" I scream, panic flooding through me. He barely reacts, looking up at me with an almost bored expression, as if I'm nothing more than an annoyance.
My breath catches in my throat as I rush over to the boy. "Oh my God!" I cry, kneeling next to him. His thumb is severed, lying on the floor in a pool of blood before him.
"Who did this? Someone call 911!"
I scream again, but my voice is drowned out by the music blaring from the speakers. No one seems to hear me; they party as if nothing is wrong.
I tear off a piece of my shirt and wrap it tightly around the boy's thumb, trying to stop the bleeding. He keeps murmuring that it's not a big deal, that I'm making it worse for him. Making what worse? I don't understand him. It's obvious he's in pain, so I ignore his words and continue demanding, "Who did this?"
Philip doesn't respond. I look up at him, his expression cold. Of course I know who did this. I'm not fooling anyone. I'm not ignorant of Philip's despicable acts. But I didn't know it was this bad. I didn't know we were chopping off people's thumbs now. Once I'm done wrapping up the wound, I look up at him, astonished. His usual bored expression gives no room for remorse. I ignore him as I reach for my phone and hold the boy's injured hand with the other.
"Drop the fucking phone, Ostian," Philip's voice cuts through the tension.
I flinch, almost dropping the phone in surprise.
"He's going to bleed to death!" I scream right in his face.
"He looks fine to me," Philip mutters, glancing over at the boy. "You sure you want him to do that? Do you need 911?" he asks.
The boy, his voice barely a whisper, replies shakily, "I'm fine, Mr. Idris... I don't need 911..."
At the sound of this, Philip leans back, clearly unfazed.
"What's wrong with you, Philip?!" I snap, my anger rising as I jump to my feet.
"Shut the fuck up!" he shouts, standing up just as forcefully, his anger and annoyance far surpassing mine. Without warning, he begins closing the gap between us like we're facing off in a boxing match. His breath hits my face, and his chest is nearly pressed against mine. The sheer intensity of his anger makes my shoulders tense. He repeats slowly, his voice dripping with menace, "Shut the fuck up."
Suddenly, everything goes quiet. I hadn't realized it. You could literally hear a pin drop. I swallow hard as he towers over me. The thing is, Philip is about 6ft", and I'm only 5'8". He has the height, the build. He must've gotten that from his biological father. And it's moments like this that remind me of my place in his life. But he's still my son. And of course, he wins the staring contest.
I glance around at the mess in my living room. it's a complete disaster. The boy isn't even a young adult yet, still two months away from that. And smell, it isn't a cigarette, as I finally register the smell. it's weed. How did he get his hands on that? No, how did they get their hands on it? What's really going on here?
I clear my throat, trying to regain control of the situation. "Party's over. Everyone out." No one moves. "Or I'll call the cops." At that, they all scramble, scattering toward the exits.
Philip clicks his tongue, pulling my attention back to him. He stares me dead in the eyes and says, "Bring him to my room," as if daring me to say otherwise.
His friends, Chad and Vick, start lifting the injured boy, and I immediately push back. "No!" I snap. "He needs a hospital. He does not go into your room. He gets help!"
"Don't try me, Ostian," Philip warns.
I look down at the boy, tears welling in his eyes. When Philip notices me watching, he lowers his head, trying to lock eyes with me. Our gazes meet. His eyes are empty, void of any emotion. "He stays, Ostian," he says, his voice cold. I know then that it's his final warning, and I shouldn't push it any further.
"It's Dad! I'm your father! Not Ethan, not just anyone to you!" I boom.
I know I've lost, but I didn't want to just walk away. This should be the moment I call the cops, but the last time I threatened that, he made Niraya pay for it. It was so bad that she had to change schools. "I'll make you pay," he told me that evening, and he wasn't joking. He'd already planted a fire alarm in Niraya's backpack, and she ended up getting expelled from school. It caused a massive uproar and will forever leave a stain in Niraya's career path. I never want her to go through that again—not if I can help it. She doesn't deserve that.
No one deserves what Philip has become. Philip has been expelled from five different schools in the past three years. I've lost count of parents coming to me, complaining about my son bullying theirs. I've lost count of all the reports, meetings, and complaints filed against him. I can't even begin to understand what goes 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 fell down the school stairs. But of course, that was a lie. I could tell, especially after the other parents ranted about how their children couldn't snitch on Philip because it would only make things worse for them later. And that made me wonder how much worse has Philip gotten? Has he killed someone? I wouldn't put it past him at this point. How a 17-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 we haven't crossed that line yet. And this story is just one of many others...
Philip blows a puff of weed smoke in my face, snapping me back to reality.
I look down at the boy's severed thumb, rolling on the floor, and say, "You need to pick that up if you at least still intend on having a thumb." Just my little advice.
With that, I make my way out of the apartment, making sure I don't trip on the bottles scattered across the floor. Whatever happens in the morning, I don't want to be a part of it. I know it's selfish. But what about the boy his safety? you ask. And what about Niraya? I ask you too. Like I said, I'll do everything I can to make sure she never has to deal with Philip again. Maybe he's almost an adult now, so if he commits a crime, I'm sure he can face the consequences.
I drove to a nearby motel and check in. That's when I remember I still hadn't told Philip about the move, my relocation news. But that would have to wait until tomorrow. I hope it goes well, though deep down, I know that's a lie.
Once again, I find myself apologizing to Rachel. I failed her. I failed our son. Where did I go wrong? What happened to the sweet boy I used to hold in my arms, who looked up at me with wonder in his eyes? What happened to the boy who used to cling to me every time I came home from work? The times we would play basketball together? I don't know when or how everything changed. But I know that somewhere along the line, I lost him. I let him slip through my fingers, just like I let Rachel slip away.
Maybe this move to California will be the start of something better. A fresh beginning. But then again, maybe I'm just running away again.