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You can only run from ghosts for so long before they catch you, their cold fingers curling around your throat, dragging you back into the past. That’s what it felt like tonight, sitting on the cold floor of my darkened living room, shadows pressing in around me. The bottle beside me trembled in my hand as I took another swig, the amber liquid burning its way down my throat, trying to drown the memories that refused to stay buried.

It was the anniversary of the day my father killed my mother and uncle. The blood, the screams, the sharp metallic tang of violence—it all felt fresh, like it had just happened. Every year, the anniversary brought the same haunting memories I couldn’t seem to escape.

My hand trembled as I drank again, but the liquor wasn’t enough to quiet my head. I wanted to call Angel, to hear her voice, to have her calm me like no one else could. But I stopped myself. I didn’t want her to see this side of me—the broken, angry man who scared even himself.

The bottle flew before I even realized I’d let it go, crashing against the wall with a satisfying shatter. Glass rained down in jagged pieces, but it wasn’t enough. My chest heaved, my body moved on its own. I flipped the couch, sent the coffee table tumbling, ripped pictures off the walls. Everything had to go. The destruction felt like the only way to breathe.

When it was over, I stood in the middle of the chaos, glass crunching beneath my feet. My breath came out in ragged gasps as I looked around at the mess—my life, reflected back at me. I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned toward the garage, needing to escape, but froze when I saw Naomi and Jonas standing in the doorway.

Naomi held up a bag. The smell of food hit me hard—I hadn’t eaten all day. But it was the look in her eyes that disarmed me. “We hadn’t heard from you all day, and since today’s the day…” she said softly. “Figured you’d be in your feelings.”

I stared at them, my anger shrinking into a dull ache. I let out a low chuckle. “Yeah, well, you know how it is.”

Jonas patted me on the back as he passed, heading to the kitchen. I could hear him pulling out plates.

Naomi started cleaning up the mess in the living room. She didn’t say anything about the broken glass or the overturned furniture, just swept it up, clearing a space for us to sit.

We settled around the coffee table. For a moment, it almost felt normal, but the weight of the day made it too hard to pretend.

We ate in silence. I was grateful for their presence. They didn’t need to say anything—just being there was enough.

After dinner, Jonas brought out a deck of cards. "How about a game?" he suggested.

He dealt the cards. “I could use some spending money. How much you got on this game?”

We played for hours. I laughed, and I felt the knot in my chest loosen.

When we finally called it a night, Jonas gathered the trash and dishes and headed to the kitchen, leaving Naomi and me alone. She turned to me, her expression serious.

"We don’t always see eye to eye on everything, Cassius," she said, taking my face in her hands, smoothing her fingers over my cheeks. "But I want you to know you are loved. Stop thinking you have to bottle up all your feelings or hide them behind destructive behavior. Just call somebody."

Her words hit me hard. I could only nod, my throat too tight to speak.

Jonas returned and pulled Naomi from the floor, then me. I suspected he’d gone to the kitchen so Naomi could talk to me—he didn’t do emotions. "Come on, man. You’re coming with us. We can’t leave you here like this."

I started to protest, but the look in their eyes told me there was no arguing. They wouldn’t leave me alone tonight.

Reluctantly, I followed them out. The night air was cool, and I felt a little more grounded with each step away from the house.

In the car, Naomi turned to me. "Hand me your phone."

Confused, I passed it to her. She quickly typed something and handed it back. On the screen was a message to Angel: "Hey beautiful, had some business to take care of. I’ll call you when I’m free."

I glanced at Naomi. "I thought you didn’t want me dealing with her."

Naomi sighed. "That’s for her benefit, not yours. You should have at least texted her a couple days ago. She’s been worried."

I didn’t have a response because I hadn’t even thought about how she’d feel about me disappearing for days. How could I expect to be the man she needed if I couldn’t even think beyond my own bullshit long enough to check in with her? It wasn’t just selfish—it was careless.

Maybe walking away was the only way to keep from ruining the one good thing I had left.