Justin

This is the part I was not looking forward to. It's the part that really messes with my head because it's not myself I'm dealing with – it's my father and his twisted, abnormal mind that even the smartest psychiatrist can't crack.

Addie still hasn't let go of my hand. Even when she got up to grab one of my mom's homemade chocolate chip cookies. She's now sitting beside me, nibbling on a cookie. I still can't believe she's here. That she was the one who knocked on my bedroom door. That she's still here, wearing her tight black leggings and half-cut rose-pink sweater. Catching glimpses of her stomach is almost enough to put me over the edge.

"Okay," she says, turning so she's sitting cross-legged on my bed. "I'm ready for sure this time. Tell me more."

I take a deep breath. "So you know my father worked for the RCMP, right?"

She nods.

"Okay, well, about a year and a half after I started having seizures, things started getting rocky between my parents. It started with unusual disagreements, glares over dinner – stuff like that. I was young, but kids have the tendency to notice when things are off. Anyway, my parents announced their divorce to Chris and I the winter before I was diagnosed. Things got pretty hectic. Chris was forced to go back and forth, family members took sides, my friends at school left me behind – it was war. The fighting got worse, but not on Mom's part. My father was unstable. He made threats, had tantrums, and scared all of us. He was abusive. At first it wasn't physical, mainly just emotional and mental. It was like I didn't know him anymore."

I pause, rubbing my jaw. This part is always so hard to explain. None of my words do it justice. I was there by my mom's side through everything, experienced it all, but I can never find the right words. Everything I say comes up short.

I glance at Addie. She's listening intently, waiting for more, her blue eyes filled with concern.

"This lasted for a good five months. I remember the late-night calls that lasted longer than normal. The tension between my father and my grandparents. My father was catastrophic. He took every jab he could at my mom to make her look like a terrible parent in front of the court when he was the terrible parent. I know parents need to work to provide for their kids and themselves, but he was constantly focused on work. And when he came home, he was distant and detached from our home life. Honestly, he acted like a psychopath. How can someone be so put together at work, only to come home and act like a total asshole? It just makes no sense."

I pause and take a sip of my drink to warm my body up. This part of the story always manages to send chills down my spine.

"So what happened next?" Addie asks, brushing her thumb along the back of my hand. I take a moment to be selfish and enjoy her touch. "With your parents."

"One sunny day in May, Chris and I were outside playing soccer on the lawn, and Mom was sitting on the patio reading a book. It had been a great day, actually – something neither of us had really experienced for a long time – up until I heard tires aggressively grating against the gravel. See, Chris and I were supposed to go to our father's house that night and he had come to pick us up. But the moment I heard that noise, I knew something was wrong. And my feelings were confirmed when I saw the way he was walking, dressed in his jeans and T-shirt, sunglasses on."

I swallow thickly, hating this part. Despising it beyond belief.

"He told me and Chris to come over because we all needed to have a talk with our mother. We listened, of course, because we knew what would happen if we didn't. But before we could get over there, our father snapped. His fists...the way he hit Mom...Fuck, I can barely stomach it."

Addie gasps. "He hit your mom?"

"Worse," I nod. "It was like he was suddenly a UFC fighter and taking on his archenemy. I was shocked. I knew he was insane, but this was terrifying and shocking and I froze for a fraction of a second before I pulled him off of Mom. I told her to take Chris with her and run into the house so they could call nine-one-one."

I wipe away another tear. I'd rather have a seizure than go through this story – and that's saying a lot.

Addie squeezes my hand harder.

"They did manage to get in the house, and I managed to hold my father back for a bit. He eventually pushed me off, though, and chased after them. When he pushed me away, I fell and hit my head on the chair Mom had been sitting in hard enough that I was a little dizzy when I got up. Of course, I still followed him. I knew he was going to do something and I knew that I needed to help."

"They were in the kitchen when I got inside. Chris was on the couch, crying and screaming for him to stop. My father had Mom pinned next to the kitchen sink. She kept screaming and crying, telling me to call nine-one-one. That moment was one of the hardest moments of my life. I wanted to help Mom, but I knew that I was treading dangerous waters if I went near him and tried to disarm him. So I called nine-one-one. I don't know what happened next, really, but the next thing I knew, my father had pulled away and was pointing a gun at his own head, screaming at Mom and telling her that this was all her fault. Mom took that chance to run. She took the phone from me, grabbed Chris, and ran. She continues to apologize to me for the fact that she didn't grab my hand, too, but I always tell her to stop. Chris needed her more than he needed me."

I'm crying now. I hate it, but I can't help it. The trauma after that happened was terrible to deal with. There were nightmares, my undiagnosed seizures got worse, and I distanced myself from everyone. My father will never have any idea about how badly is affected all of us. Ever.

Addie sets her mug down on the floor and pulls me into her arms, hugging me tightly. Her embrace is warm and she smells like cherry blossoms and vanilla. She feels safe. Like I'm where I belong.

"I don't want to get into the rest, but the police did finally come. They cuffed him and took him into custody – the same people who he worked for and with did this to him. We then had to go and make statements. He was released the next day. That summer was terrible. I learned that family members weren't who they said they were. Some of them defended what my father did with great pride, saying how great of a father he was to Chris and I, that he was a loving, caring husband. They defended him, Addie. I was devastated that not only one family member, but multiple family members could turn their backs on us. I still despise them to this day. What they did...it's unforgivable. Anyway, the story made it onto the news, which was why, when school started again, that I legally had my last name changed from Karvonen – my father's last name – to my mom's last name – McCallister. My father's last name is Finnish, something that's highly recognizable in a place like Cache Creek. People whispered about me at school when the summer was over and I couldn't handle the attention."

I take a deep breath, burying my face in the nook between her neck and shoulder.

"You know the rest of the story. After that summer was over, I was diagnosed. Things have gotten better since we moved here and I met you, but it's still hard. It was hard knowing that you'd confided in me so many times and I'd barely told you anything. I just...I didn't know how. It's a lame excuse, but it's true. People usually sense that there's something wrong with me and tend to stay away. Except you."

Pulling away, Addie searches my face, tears in her eyes. "Do you know how amazing you are?" she whispers. "My words are never going to do you any justice, but wow. You're...do you realize how strong you are? Look what you've gotten through. You went through all that and you never strayed; you never turned to drugs or alcohol or tried to end your life. You kept fighting. You are amazing, Justin."

"I don't feel amazing," I say, looking at the bedsheets. I pull back the sleeve of my sweater and expose the scar I gave myself. "I did try – once. I wanted to test it. See how much it would hurt."

Addie traces her finger over my scar. "But did you do it again?" she asks softly.

"No," I reply instantly. I hated myself for doing what I did and swore I wouldn't resort to that no matter how much I wanted to. I had enough pain to deal with and I didn't need anymore.

"Exactly," she smiles, looking up at me. "You didn't do it again."

I open my mouth, but then stop. She's right. I didn't harm myself ever again after that. I give her a small smile. "Yeah, I guess I didn't."

"Justin?" she asks.

"Yeah?"

She begins to pick at the nail polish on her fingernails. "Why does Chris have to go back and forth? Your dad...that was domestic violence. How does he have the right to take Chris from you and your mom?"

I sigh. "He worked for the RCMP, which was why he had the gun. They covered up his ass and managed to convince the courts that it was work-related stuff. So he took some time off, went to counselling, and 'became a better man'. By the time he did that, I was old enough to make my own choices, but Chris wasn't. Us moving here made it a lot harder for Chris, but we needed to get out of there. I know he resents me a little for having independence, but seeing my father able to walk around with his head held high was sickening. There was also the fear that he would do it again." I shake my head. "I can't imagine what he would have done if I hadn't been there to help."

Addie wipes away a tear of her own. "I can't even stomach the thought," she shudders. "That's...I can't imagine my dad suddenly turning on me and my family. I would be heartbroken, distraught."

I nod. "It's a terrible thing, and even though people, mainly family members, believe that we're still dwelling on the past, we're not. I mean, look around. We're not living with my grandparents anymore. We have our own house. Mom has a job. We have friends here. We've created a new life. If people call that dwelling in the past, then they're pretty fucked up. We do discuss what has happened, but that's because we need to. When you get screwed over by counsellors and family members you thought you could trust, that's just what happens. Pain never goes away – you just learn how to adapt to it. Sometimes the pain is like waves and you constantly feel it, but most of the time it settles."

Addie pulls me into another hug. Normally, I'm not a big fan of hugs, but I think I'm getting used to them. Especially when they're coming from her. "I'm sorry you had to go through this, Justin."

I hug her back. "I am, too. I know we didn't deserve it. But you know what?"

"What?" she murmurs.

"I have you," I whisper, twirling a strand of her hair around my finger. "I have you and my mom and Chris. And that's enough."

Through the shared tears and pain of the past, Addie pulls back so our mouths are inches apart. "I love you," she says.

Before I can respond to her, she closes the space and kisses me. It's quick and simple, but it counts for so much more. Hope. Strength. The very idea that we can move past this. My heart thumps rapidly against my chest. It's been so long since someone accepted me for who I am.

"Justin?" Addie asks again, pulling back.

"Hmm?" I'm a little dazed from the kiss.

"Something just occurred to me."

"Yeah?"

She frowns. "I'm confused."

"About?" I press.

Her eyes flick to the scar that's hidden beneath my hair, then back to my face. "If it's the scar tissue that's causing these seizures, then why are they getting worse? Scar tissue doesn't keep expanding. I mean, look at the scar on my Mom's cheek or my Dad's back. They've stayed the same over the years; they haven't gotten bigger or changed shape." She pauses. "Did BC Children's hospital get everything out?" Though she looks fearful of how I might react to what she's saying, she continues. "Or is there the chance the tumour is growing back? I just think that if the seizures are being caused by something that's not a tumour, shouldn't the meds be working? It makes no sense."

I'm stunned into silence. Her theory makes sense. After surgery, the seizures went away for a month. A whole month of recovering and taking care of myself to the best of my abilities. Scar tissue shouldn't be affecting me like it is.

"I-I don't know," I stutter, exhaling deeply. "Maybe."

The more I think about it, the more I start to believe it. The meds should be working for me now that the tumour is gone. But they're becoming more frequent and sometimes I do get headaches in one spot on the left side of my head.

"I could be wrong, but it wouldn't hurt to look into it, right?"

I shake my head and set my mug down. "I'll tell my mom and see what she thinks. I think you might be right, Addie. It makes sense. But I'm not telling her right now." Falling to my back, I pull Addie down on top of me.

She giggles and tangles her fingers in my hair. When her fingertips brush against the scar, I don't flinch or shove her away. And, for once in my life, it doesn't remind me of my insecurities. Instead, her words about me being strong replay in my mind.

"I've missed you," I whisper, bringing her lips down to mine.

Before I can taste her mouth against mine, she stops. "I've missed you, too."

Her blue eyes are gleaming. And this time, they're not gleaming because of tears I've caused. I take in her face, drink her up. She's stunningly beautiful. How did I ever get so lucky?

"Addie?" I ask.

"Yes?" she whispers.

"I love you, too."

And the moment her lips touch mine, I'm lost because of her – the softness of her lips, her scent, her very presence.

This is a moment I wish would never end.