Chapter 37: Those damn eyes
He was back in that goddamn apartment. Dim lights flickered overhead, the single-bulb fixture swaying slightly. The walls were yellowed with age and cigarette smoke, stained with something darker in the corners. The air was thick—like a weight pressing down on his chest.
And in the middle of it all, his father sat on the ratty old couch, laughing.
His laugh was the kind that stuck to your skin like grease. It never sounded like amusement—more like something ugly clawing its way out of his throat. There was a woman curled up at his feet, shaking. Orion barely recognized her. Stringy hair, bruises along her arms. His mother.
Just another woman this bastard had decided to break.
He couldn't move. The nightmare wouldn't let him. His younger self stood frozen in the doorway, small, terrified, too weak to do anything but watch. His father leaned forward, gripping his mother's chin roughly, forcing her to look up at him.
"You're mine," the bastard sneered. "You understand that, don't you?"
She didn't answer. Maybe she couldn't. Orion could see the way her hands trembled, the way her breath hitched. His father smiled like a man watching a bird try to fly with broken wings.
Then he noticed Orion.
The smile turned cold. "What the hell are you looking at, boy?"
Orion's throat tightened. His small hands clenched into fists, but they were useless. Everything about him was useless. He wanted to scream at his younger self, wanted to shove the kid forward, make him move—make him do something.
But the dream played out the same way it always did.