Page 62 of Until The Lights Go Out

My heart slammed hard enough that it hurt.

There was a vein in his temple, pulsing. I’d seen him angry more times than I could count. Rage was just…part of him. It lived under his skin like it was waiting for a reason to come out.

“They’re nothing,” I said too quickly. Too stupidly.

His head tilted, slow. “Nothing?” he repeated.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because we both knew that was a lie.

He opened one of the letters, smoothing it out just enough to read. His eyes flicked across the page, jaw tightening with every line.

I knew what was written there.

I knew because I’d read it too many times. Because I’d kept it close, hidden, like it was something I had to protect.

You don’t have to be who he says you are.

You’re allowed to want different things.

You’re allowed to feel⁠—

The paper crumpled again in his fist. “You’ve been writing to her?” he asked, his tone making my stomach drop. “For how long?”

I swallowed.

“Answer me.”

“…A while.”

His laugh was sharp and humorless. “A while,” he repeated. “Try again.”

I hesitated, looking around for an exit.

“How long, Theo?” he shouted, that vein on his forehead popping even more as he yelled.

“Six years.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them, a quiet admission. The silence that followed was equal parts heavy and suffocating. Six years of letters, of midnight thoughts, of telling her things I’d never said out loud to anyone else. Six years of pretending the rules didn’t apply to us as long as no one knew. Six years of something that felt like mine.

My father’s hand tightened around the paper. “I told you,” he said slowly, “to stay away from her. I forbade you from speaking with her.”

“I did⁠—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I tried,” I snapped. “I did⁠—”

His hand moved faster than I expected.

The crack echoed in the room.

For a second, everything went quiet.

Then the sting hit—sharp, hot, blooming across my cheek. My head snapped to the side, vision blurring at the edges.

I didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. I knew better. This wasn’t the first time I was stuck in this cycle from hell. I could smell the alcohol on my father’s breath as he got closer and grabbed my shirt in his fist.

“You don’t get to decide what you try,” he said, pulling up on my shirt. “You do what you’re told.”

My jaw clenched, and I tasted blood.