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the words hung in the air like smoke, suffocating and toxic. "i did this for you!" his father shouted again, louder this time, as though volume could make the lie believable. funny, dylan thought, how easily people could mask selfishness as sacrifice.
"we're moving to krungthep, it's better for you and your education," his father insisted, shameless in his delivery. the words grated on dylan's nerves, each syllable cutting deeper, twisting in his chest. better for him? or better for a man desperate to run from the mess he created?
"are you sure it's not just you being a coward?" dylan shot back, his voice icy and calm, though the anger burned like wildfire beneath his skin. "did you not just let mother see another man?"
the question landed like a slap. his father flinched, the briefest crack in his stoic mask. "you'll understand when you're older," he replied, weakly now, like a man trying to hold water in cupped hands. "i love your mother so much."
love. that word again. it made dylan's stomach churn. what did love even mean to his parents? to him, it was starting to look like a slow, inevitable decay—a fragile thing worn thin by lies, pride, and silence. If this was love, dylan thought, he'd rather die than feel it.
"forget about it," dylan muttered, shaking his head. he grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder with a force that rattled the room. "unless you're taking care of everything, don't talk to me."
and with that, he was out the door, the air outside sharp and cold against his face. he climbed onto his bike as the bike roared to life, drowning out the voice in his head screaming at him to turn back. but he didn't. he sped down the road, away from the suffocating house, the stifling family, the endless cycle of misery.
the downside of being a child of an almost-divorced couple? you don't get a choice. you just have to live with it.