You Will Always Be My Son // Anthem Lights

Nila

I fly upright in bed, gasping sharply. The images hit me like a rock, and I feel myself break in, sobbing quietly into my comforter.

The sad thing is, this is becoming normal. It's a rare, lucky occasion that I wake up normally. I'm getting used to this. But not the dreams. I don't think I'll ever get used to those. The images. They get worse every time. I don't think I can take much more of this.

And it's getting harder and harder to hide it all, especially from Dad... and Joel. I think I've done okay so far but every day I wake up with no energy to get out of bed, and then I have to go and be my normal self, draining me of every ounce of motivation and joy I didn't have in me to begin with. Then the night comes, and instead of falling into bed to refresh myself, I'm tortured until the morning.

I hear a creak in the hall, and stop breathing. Another. Not good.

With an effort, I swallow my tears, sliding back down in bed and turning to face the wall. It takes everything I have in me to make my breathing steady after crying five seconds ago.

Several long seconds pass, before my door opens slowly. Just breathe in, breathe out. Steady.

"Nila?" It's Mom's soft whisper. "You okay, Honey?"

Breathe in, breathe out. I'm asleep.

She hesitates, but obviously, she doesn't want to wake me up if I am asleep. "Nila?" she repeats softly.

I continue to focus on breathing evenly, and, after another long moment, I hear the door close again, and her soft footsteps retreating back down the hall. It sounds like she's going to the nursery, and that makes sense. She was probably up with Leo, and that's why she heard something. Because I honestly don't think I made enough noise to wake them up.

And it was probably my squeaky bed in the first place, not my crying. That was basically inaudible.

You sure the bed's squeaky, or are you just fat?

Look, just... just shut up.

I feel tears begin to press at me again, but I bite them back with an effort. Mom's already up, and she'll already be listening harder than usual. I can't make a sound.

Why does this hurt so bad? I mean, it... it shouldn't. There just dreams.

Fine. They're just memories. But that's not my life anymore. It's not a life I truly remember living through. The dreams are the only recollection I have. So it shouldn't matter.

That's not what that little cut on your arm says, is it?

I wasn't thinking. I just wasn't thinking.

But think now. It felt so good. It helped so much.

I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately fighting the droplets pushing at the back of my eyes.

It didn't help. It didn't feel good. I wasn't thinking.

Now you're just lying to yourself. Why did you do it if it didn't help? You don't like pain for no apparent reason. And you don't cut her own freaking arm if you don't enjoy the pain.

Shut up. Shut up.

It's my mind. I should be able to make it listen when I tell it to be quiet. Yet somehow, I just... I just can't.

And that's it. That's the reality I'm trying so desperately to escape, yet I just can't. Nothing makes that horrid little voice be quiet.

You haven't gotten caught yet. The long sleeves have been working fine. You know it's the only way you're going to be able to handle all of this. Keep doing that, or they find out.

Slowly, I turn over in bed, so that my face is directly into the pillow, like I think I'll be able to muffle the sound of myself.

I'm not a cutter. I'm don't cut. I did it once, and it will never happen again.

So what do you propose you do about these dreams? Because they're certainly not going away.

I... I don't know. All I know is I can't take one more night like this.

Because you really believe that's going to happen? You really believe tonight's going to be that last night of this?

No. I don't. At all. It feels like this is never going to end.

That's because it won't. The past is set, and you're always going to have to deal with it.

I feel tears beginning to slide out of my tightly closed eyes, no matter how hard I try to hold them back. It's really going to be like this forever?

Still think you can get by without a coping method?

More tears.

But I can't. Mom's going to hear.

Yeah, she is. Because you're too pathetic to handle like, and you're too much of a coward to take the hand you're being offered right now.

I hear her leaving the nursery. I can't do this!

Desperately, I reach for the box on my nightstand, carefully lifting the lid off and picking up the scissors lying on top of everything else. I turn back onto my side, and expose my wrist towards myself, and start swiping.

Don't think. Just don't think.

The stinging pain gradually gets worse and worse the more I go, until finally, I feel myself break into blood, as it carries moisture onto the skin around where I'm cutting. The skin being wet makes the blade catch on it more, and it widens the cut.

Before I know it, I have another, deeper gash on my forearm. And I've also stopped crying.

At what cost? Do you realize what you're doing to yourself here? What is your dad finds out? What about Joel? Can you imagine their disgusted looks to see you behaving like this?

I know! But... nothing else helps. Nothing else makes the pain go away, even if it is only for a little.

And yet, I still hate myself more than I've ever hated myself before. The first time, I wasn't thinking. This time, I was. And I did it anyway.

You deserve to bleed, you know that? And you also deserved everything your real parents did to you. Everything you're seeing. It's still better than you should get right now.

Shut up. Please shut up.

I'll never shut up. You deserve me, too.

And it hits me. It was quiet, even if it was only for a minute.

Before I know what's happening, I'm swiping the blade across my arm again. And... sweet silence at last.

By the time I'm exhausted enough to finally sleep again, I have four fresh cuts on my arm, added to by the one from four days ago.

I hate myself. I just freaking hate myself.

Time-Skip Sponsored by Lucky Charms

I don't know that a morning has ever seemed so cold, and I don't know if I've ever been so nervous go downstairs to meet my dad one-on-one.

You're scared of your own father. You worthless, ungrateful brat.

I know. Shut up.

I look myself up and down in the mirror, swallowing hard.

I'm wearing the red "Priceless" pullover from Dad and Joel's merch shop (guys, I'm seriously so obsessed with that thing), on top of black, distressed skinny jeans. I did my makeup a little darker than usual... eyeliner and mascara... which are my bare-minimum, and lipstick that's a deep, dark red, plus black eyeshadow to smoke out my eyes a little bit.

I couldn't help it. It's just... expressive, I guess.

And no one's going to think twice about the long sleeves. They couldn't. I'm just promoting my dad's band and their message. Yeah... but I've also been in long sleeves every day since Saturday, and it's Wednesday. That's not exactly normal. Not in Nashville in October.

Yeah. Plus, you're straight-up lying with that shirt. Priceless? Hah. I can't believe you actually ever fell for that junk.

Shut up.

But I look like me, don't I? Nothing to make them worry. Now I just have to act like me too... except, not me now. The me that I'm supposed to be. The sunshine. Not the cutting loser.

I swallow hard, set my shoulders, and pull my backpack onto my back, then turn, open the door, and walk downstairs.

I walk into the kitchen to see Dad dishing out two plates of waffles. He looks over at me with a smile, and I force one in return.

"Good morning, Love."

"Morning."

He comes over the bar as I take a seat, sitting down beside me and putting a plate in front of each of us.

Do you realize how many calories are on that plate? At least five hundred, because that's what normal people should eat every meal. But with how fat you are, you should be having like five.

"You sleep alright?" Dad asks me. "You mother was up with Leo and thought she heard something in your room, but when she went in, you were asleep."

Straight face. Don't react.

"Yeah, I slept fine," I reply easily. "That's weird. I don't know what she heard."

He nods. "Alright. It was probably nothing."

He picks up his fork and takes a bite, so I force myself to do the same.

Yeah, eat it, pig. You'll see what happens.

"You look nice today, Love," Dad says, smiling slightly. "I just love the shirt."

I laugh. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. What can I say? You guys sell cute clothes."

"Well, it just makes me happy to see you wearing something that says that," he replies. "So you never forget."

I take another bite so that I have an excuse not to answer, and for one to look away.

"It's not like I don't have options for it." I force another giggle. "Uncle Joel tried out that one with the fancy writing on me first, and Mom only did custom make me one."

Instead of the regular I Got This shirt, she designed and ordered me one that says I got this shirt from my dad, who says I'm priceless. It's pretty awesome.

If only he was right.

Shut up.

Dad's laughing now too. "Yes, well... she didn't tell me about that until she gave it to you. But I'm still happy to see you in any of them." He offers me a teasing smile. "Even if you did pick the warmest out of the lot on a day that's supposed to be hotter than usual."

"Weather tries to cramp my style," I reply breezily. "I just decided to stop letting it."

"Whatever you say, Love," he sighs, shaking his head with a small smile.

We fall into a comfortable silence, both eating, even though I know I don't need it. I just don't know how to not without worrying him.

Finally, he finishes up, then rises. "I'll be right back. I have something for you."

"Wait, what?" I ask, but he ignores me, darting upstairs.

I watch him in confusion, before realizing he just gave me the perfect out for the half that's left of my food. I don't want to risk the trash again. But I have a secret weapon.

"Ivy," I call softly, looking over at where she's asleep on the couch. "Come 'mere, girl."

She opens her eyes drowsily, then perks up when she realizes I have food. She jumps down and trots over, and in five seconds flat, the calories are gone.

"Good girl," I coo. "Now go lay down."

And she promptly returns to where she was before. Score, and double score.

I take both Dad's and my plates over to the sink, and am still rinsing them when he returns from upstairs.

"Okay," he laughs, "why is it that you pick through your food while I'm down here, and then I leave and it's gone just like that? It's happened every day this week."

"Dad," I groan. "That literally makes perfect sense. I eat faster when I'm not talking."

"Alright, alright. Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I sigh. "Just let me get my backpack."

He nods, and soon I'm following him out to the car. Before I know it, we're pulling up in front of the school.

"Alright," he says, turning to me as we come to stop. "Joel and I... We've been working on something for you this week."

I roll my eyes. "Okay, now I know this is gonna be interesting, because your older brother has been a freaking weirdo lately."

"Nila, Joel was born a weirdo, and he will always be one. I can't believe it's taken you this long to figure that out," Dad chuckles. "But sometimes he's a pretty awesome weirdo."

"Touche'," I sigh. "Now what have you and the weirdo been doing?"

"Well, first off," he says, "Don't you remember what day it is?"

"Um... no?" I ask mildly. "Wednesday?"

"Too bad," he says seriously. "Because today is the anniversary of one of the best days of my life."

He hands me a card, and it slowly sinks in. How could I forget? They adopted me today, six years ago.

I smile as I read the card, with a message from everyone in our whole extended family scrolled into wherever it will fit.

"Thanks, Dad," I say quietly. "I may have forgotten it was today, but that was one of the best days of my life, too."

He lets me finish reading the card, before handing me a tiny box.

"What..." I start, and catch my breath when I open it up.

It's a set of three rings, obviously made to be worn both separately and apart, with tiny plates set on top, each with a line of script.

I loved you then,

I love you still.

I always have, and I always will.

"Oh my gosh, Dad, why?" I ask, feeling tears leap to the back of my eyes. "You didn't have to do this."

"I know," he replies simply, "but I wanted to. Because I never, ever want you to forget that."

"Thank you, Daddy," I whisper, trying to hold back my tears so that they don't screw up my makeup.

"You are so welcome, Darling," he murmurs back, then places an envelope in my hand. "And this is what me and Joel have been doing. It's a song, and we wrote it for you. Just... if you ever feel alone, Love... if you ever doubt the fact that we love you, or that you're really worth everything we say you are... open that, and come to us. Alright?"

I cover my mouth with my hand, still desperately blinking back my tears, unable to speak, so nodding instead.

"And never forget," Dad adds softly. "You can come to either of us, no matter what you're dealing with. We don't care. All we want is for you to be honest with us, because nothing you do will ever make us do anything except love you more. We're here for you, and we always will be."

"Okay," I choke out. It's honestly all I can manage right now without bawling my eyes out.

Gently, Dad leans over and pulls me into a hug. I return it, and it's finally too much. I give in, and let myself cry into his shoulder.

"Dang it, Dad," I say into him. "You're too freaking sweet. I'm gonna screw up my makeup."

"And you're just as beautiful anyway," he laughs as we pull back. "But don't worry about it, Love. It's still good."

I check my reflection on my phone and see he's right... it's mostly fine. I have the eyeshadow, so it'll be easy to touch up back to the way it was before.

"Alright. I'll let you go," Dad says finally. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"And what are you worth?"

"I'm priceless."

"Don't you forget it."