The fight escalates quickly. Blood sprays across the floor as my fists connect with his face again and again. I'm not his son anymore, not the peacekeeper, not the protector.

I become him.

A monster.

Each hit brings a sick satisfaction. I've always known my place, always let him beat me down to save Mom. But not tonight. Tonight, I'm fucking done.

With one final surge of fury, I throw everything I have into a crushing blow that connects with his jaw. His head snaps back, eyes rolling as he crumples to the floor. He lies there, sprawled and vulnerable, and something primal takes over. I lunge forward, ready to finish what he started years ago, my fist cocked back for another strike.

"NATE! STOP!"

Mom's scream pierces through the red haze. It's not anger in her voice—it's terror. Terror of me.

I freeze, knuckles white, breath heaving.

The sudden silence is deafening.

I look down at my hands, covered in his blood, and see his hands in mine.

"Scott, get up." Her voice is barely a whisper. "You need to get up and get out. Now."

He stumbles out, leaving me standing in the wreckage. I don't breathe until I hear the front door slam shut. When it does, Mom rushes to my side, tears streaming down her face.

I can't look at her.

I don't go to school the next day; instead, I end up at the lake house in Eden, the only place that ever felt like home. It's empty now, just a hollow shell of memories. The pier down at South End beach stretches out before me, cold and silent. I sit beneath it, hidden from the world, watching the water lap against the shore, wondering how everything got so fucked up. How I got so fucked up.

That's when I meet a kid with dark hair, dark clothes, tattoos in patches, and an attitude that screams fuck it all. He introduces himself as Jayden and he's no older than Jake.

"You look like hell, bro."

"Been a week,” I reply, taking another drag of my joint.

Our conversation reveals a kindred spirit—another soul running from a broken home. He introduces me to Monty, and just like that, my descent accelerates.

Most nights now I find myself at South End Beach. A different group of people each time. I don’t remember names and hardly remember faces.

Tonight, the acid I took hits differently than anything before. The sand beneath me transforms into something soft and endless, pulling me under. The beach seems to breathe with me, rising and falling in gentle waves until I feel a presence beside me.

She settles onto the sand with practiced grace, her blonde hair perfectly done up. When she turns to look at me, her eyes are the bluest I've ever seen—though somewhere in my hazy mind, I register disappointment that they aren't green.