At that moment, I didn’t experience a coming of age.

I unleashed a demon from within me that I had not known I possessed.

Eventually, someone dragged me from the man’s corpse, and my arm was lifted victoriously into the air. Through my one good eye, I took in the cheering crowd and spotted my father. He was smiling through his tears, his face glowing with pride.

I did this thing for him, but I was disgusted.

I never wanted to see him again because I knew there was no going back.

He did this to me—he put me in this situation.

I had saved his life and damned my own.

I didn’t sleep at all that night.

I lay in bed, staring at my ceiling, a captive to my thoughts. I wanted to sleep. I wanted to fall into my dreams and pretend the day before had never happened, but that wasn’t to be. I attempted to process what I’d done and what it meant for my life moving forward. I was terrified about going to prison or being killed. I was furious with my father, and even my mom for keeping him around. I was worried about what would be asked of me in the future. But the thing that bothered me the most was the impact on my relationship with Sofia.

How could I possibly bring this shit to her doorstep? I couldn’t taint her life with the cloud of evil that now trailed behind me. The boy inside me was eager to suggest we run away together, but that would just condemn her to an equally miserable life. We were kids—she was only fifteen. With no education or resources, we’d be on the streets. It wasn’t an option.

So, what did that mean?

An entire night of examining the facts, and it was clear there was only one option for me. I had to let her go. Not just let her go—she’d never simply let me walk away. I had to push her away so she’d never want me back. Life without her would be soul-crushing. Just the thought of hurting her so ruthlessly brought me to tears. I sobbed silently into my pillow, allowing my innocence and heartbreak to drain from me, one tear at a time.

By the time I forced myself from my bed, I felt like hell, but it was no more than I deserved. I showered the crusted blood from my skin, standing under the scalding water until it ran cold. There was no way I could show up at school looking like I did, so I didn’t even bother.

When I went downstairs, my father sat at the kitchen table, his one arm in a sling—apparently, he’d been taken to the hospital after the fight. I hadn’t cared where the fuck he’d gone, so long as I didn’t have to look at him.

He sat working on his spreadsheets for the horse races. Each week, he would research and do numbers, conniving and scheming how to hit it big at the races. Most weeks, he came back emptyhanded and dejected. I didn’t know what this turn of events meant for my life long-term, but I’d be damned if it meant I’d turn out like my father.