"Have you any idea of what you've put your mother through?" Dad's patronizing tone has my stomach coiling in knots. We lock gazes, my eyes turn to slits. My jaw clenches so tight it could break, but I don't look down. I bite the inside of my lips, waiting for the metallic taste of blood to pool in. There it is... a perfect reminder of the only emotion I've felt in this house—pain.

This is the scenario I had in mind—the second I step inside my parents' house, my old man is already at my throat.

"Dad, come on now. It's not like I went missing or anything." A faltering heartbeat after the words come out of my parched throat, I know they are useless.

"This is not the way we handle things in this family, Noah, and to be clear, I'm getting sick and tired of your selfish ways." His demeanor tells me I'd rather not argue, or I might lose more than my ego; sadly, my temper disagrees with everything my brain advises me against. Therefore, I bark my answer with squared shoulders and a tentative grin that bounces back from my father's iron gaze.

"In my defense, all my intentions were good. I mean, I needed a little time alone, and I lost track of time." I try advocating for the millionth time, knowing my mistakes are just way too many. Deep down, I've lost my way—I know it, and he knows it.

I need to tame my temper or this will be the end of more than just a conversation." For what it's worth, I am sorry. Didn't mean to upset Mom, or you—"

"Noah—"

"Please let me finish. I'm the first to say I've been a little off these past few months, but I'm good now, everything is good, I swea—"

"I got a call from Pratt yesterday afternoon—again. Saying you were missing classes—again." His voice is raspy and loaded with disgust. I can smell the rage from a mile radius.

Shit. This news is messing with more than my alibi. "Dad, I—"

"I'm not willing to put up with your errant behavior. Have you forgotten the strings I had to pull to get you into the Institute? Have you?" my father dead-pans.

Fuck you, Dad. It was my portfolio that sealed the deal. They wanted my art, not your money. 

I want to scream these words at the top of my lungs, but my voice grabs at my throat and refuses to surface, much like it happened last night in that ocean.

"Dad, Noah had other—"

"Stay out of this, Savannah." Her expression sours and she flinches at his tone. I stare at my sister, knowing I'm fucking up her relationship with our father when she defends me.

"He is right, Savvy. I've been a little out of sorts." A lot. A whole damn lot. Why? I have no clue.

"So what now, Noah?"

"What do you mean, Dad?"

"It's simple. What do you want, son? Do you want to continue studying?"

Of course, I want to continue studying. Art is all I have left. 

"Yes," I answer, despite my asphyxiating unrest.

"Then it's settled. You will carry on with your MFA under new conditions." There it is, the usual bargaining of my life. He's done it for as long as I can remember.

"Conditions?" What are you up to now, father?

"Yes, two to be more precise. First, you must drop all that Tattooing mumbo jumbo—"

"Wait a minute, my intentions to pursue a tattooing apprenticeship is something that we've talked about, I'm not willing to give that up."

Saying we talked about it is sugarcoating the fact we literally blew the roof with our heated argument three days ago, hence the wallowing, the Jäger and the episode. Savannah lets out a gasp, barely audible, but still noticeable. We both look at her, and her expression breaks my heart.

"Daddy, you can't deny Nono from what makes him happy."

"Sav, honey, this conversation does not concern you."

"Yes, it does. He is my baby brother, and he's done nothing wrong. All he did was forget to text you guys, and that is because he was having dinner with Jacob and me."

Listening to her, trying the impossible, fighting my battles because she knows I'm not in my best shape warms my insides, makes me want to run to where she is and give her a tight hug. I remain motionless, knowing I might make things worse for her if I say or do anything other than stand there, in utter silence—head low and breath held.

"Is that true, Noah?" His piercing eyes are ready to wolf me down in one bite, depending on how articulate my answer is.

I share a quick look with my sister, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod. "Yes, Dad. I was with them last night. After going out for a walk, I went to their place for dinner and forgot to bring my cell. I wanted to disconnect for a while, so I could spend quality time together, that's all."

"Nothing wrong with cutting down on the time this guy's wired to that damn thing, Daddy." She saunters to where he's standing, wrapping her arms around his waist. After planting a soft peck on his shoulder, I stare at my sister's magic working its way up into my father's steely eyes.

"Guess not," he answers with a defeated half-smile. Savvy has always been his favorite; there's nothing she cannot accomplish with her sunshine heart.

"Settled, then. I don't want to see my two favorite men fighting again, okay? I'm heading to the garden to check on Mom; she must be fretting over her begonias, as usual. Don't you guys pull anything funky while I'm gone."

Just like that, my father is laughing out loud, beaming at her while she disappears through the front door.

Seconds later, she pokes her head out of the window that oversees the garden and says, "Don't go telling Jacob I said that about you guys being my favorite, or I might die a spinster."

The second she is out of sight, my old man's chuckles cease, and he is all business-like again. "Listen carefully, Noah. I will play along and believe your sister's words, but I have thought this through, and I need you to commit."

If I want to continue doing the only thing that's keeping me from tipping over the edge, I must abide by his rules.

"Tell me what it is you want me to do, so I can graduate, father." I let out, my voice hoarse, strangled; shards of glass shredding it as I force the words out...

"Your mother and I think it's best if you go see Doctor Jackson again."

He says 'again' as if I had had years of therapy. I saw the woman twice back in high school when I got caught smoking ganja. I know this time around it might be worth the visit. My breathing hitches, a vice squeezes my chest, crushing the air out of my lungs... this silent avalanche of nothingness wiping out all traces of the person I used to be, or at least thought I was.

"If you see her often, attend classes at Pratt, and show excellent results, then you'll be in the clear."

Damn it. I have no alternative but to allow him to steal what's left of my pride. "I'll do whatever you think is best for me. I want to continue studying. I'm sorry; I am." My words come out muffled, it's so damn hard to talk about myself and try staying in one piece.

His patronizing ways are snapping the stitches of my ragged limbs one by one, so I throw out an excuse and dart out the door to gather up before I disintegrate: all dirty yarn and sand right on top of his polished, overly priced, leather shoes. 

Once outside, I hug my mother, apologize some more, and make my way into the back garden where our old tree house rests on top of a gigantic oak—still my favorite place to hide.

At that moment, my limbs are disjointed, parts of me splintering until I'm an emotion away from shattering into unrecognizable pieces. Can't he see what he's doing to me? Can't he see how close I am to losing it all?

The thought of his condescending smile roils nausea in my gut, bile rising to sour my mouth. My eyes find the branches of the oak tree, swirling to the cadence of the wind. Inhaling to fill my lungs to the maximum whilst bathing in the breeze, my heated cheeks begin to cool. 

Ignoring the subtle tremble of my right hand, I fish for what I'll know I'll find in my jeans' back pocket. Slapping the box against my palm, I force the cigarette out where I need it to go. I'm like this cigarette, the box is my father forcing me to my doom. My hands shake as I flick the lighter, the flames wavering like my control over my inner turmoil. Taking a deep drag, I hold the smoke in my lungs, my body sighing with pleasure as the nicotine eases my strung nerves. Sadly, the moment washes away, leaving me deflated, the void inside me yearning for more darkness.

As I raise my face to the sun—it's white orb blinding me, forcing my eyes closed—my inner voice as mocking as ever comes to me in its hateful whispers. It says, "Who are you trying to fool here, Noah? Try as you might, you are still invisible." 

Makes sense...

As I face the sun, I cast no shadow.