𓆦Fault Lines𓆦

The house was unnervingly quiet when Dakota finally stepped through the door later that evening. He'd spent most of the day at Aimee's, cocooned in the safety of her room, where they had watched old movies and avoided heavy conversations. Aimee had tried to make him laugh with her commentary about the ridiculousness of Casablanca, but her attempts felt muted, like even she knew the weight of what lingered unspoken.

Now, back in his house, every creak of the floorboards and sigh of the walls felt oppressive. The living room was dark except for the faint glow of the muted TV. His father was slumped in his recliner, a beer bottle hanging loosely from his hand, his eyes half-lidded but alert.

Dakota froze.

"Where the hell have you been?" his father asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"I—" Dakota's voice cracked. He swallowed hard, his hand tightening around the strap of his bag. "I was with Aimee."

His father shifted in his chair, setting the bottle on the small table beside him. The sound of glass meeting wood echoed like a gunshot in the silent room. "You didn't go to church," he said, his words slow and deliberate.

"No," Dakota admitted, his heart racing.

"Why?"

Dakota hesitated. He knew no answer would satisfy his father, but the silence stretched between them, unbearable. "I just... didn't feel well."

"Didn't feel well," his father repeated, his lips curling into a sneer. He stood, looming over Dakota, his shadow casting long across the dim room. "Is that what you're calling it now? Skipping church? Wandering around like some lost soul?"

"I wasn't wandering—"

"Don't lie to me!" his father barked, his voice booming. Dakota flinched, his bag slipping from his shoulder and thudding softly to the floor. "You think I don't know what you're doing? Cutting your hair, dressing like... like that. Trying to rebel against God, against me."

"I'm not rebelling!" Dakota shot back, his voice trembling but louder than he intended. "I'm just trying to—"

"To what? To ruin yourself?" His father took a step closer, the smell of alcohol sharp and bitter between them. "You think you know better than me? Better than God?"

"No, I—"

"You're sick," his father snarled, his words slurring slightly as his anger overtook him. "You've got something wrong in your head, and it's your fault. You've let the devil in. And now look at you. Look at what you've become."

Dakota's eyes stung, tears threatening to spill as his father's words struck like blows. He felt his shoulders curl inward, his arms wrapping protectively around himself. "I didn't do anything wrong," he whispered.

"You're a mistake," his father hissed, his voice low but venomous. "A burden. And I've had enough of your games. Enough of your sins. You think you can just do whatever you want, disrespect me, disrespect God?"

Dakota couldn't hold back the tears anymore. They slid down his cheeks silently, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"Sorry?" his father scoffed. "Sorry doesn't cut it."

A long, heavy silence followed, broken only by the faint sound of the TV murmuring in the background. Finally, his father stepped back, shaking his head in disgust.

"Get out of my sight," he said, his tone colder than Dakota had ever heard it. "I can't even look at you right now."

Dakota didn't wait for a second dismissal. He turned and hurried up the stairs, his vision blurred with tears.

---

In his room, Dakota collapsed onto his bed, his body shaking with silent sobs. He buried his face in the pillow, muffling the sound as much as he could. His chest ached, his father's words echoing in his mind like a cruel mantra.

A soft knock at the door startled him. For a moment, he froze, his breath hitching.

"Dakota?" His mother's voice was hesitant, barely above a whisper.

He didn't respond.

The door creaked open, and she stepped inside, closing it softly behind her. She stood there for a moment, her hands twisting nervously in front of her.

"I... I'm sorry," she said finally, her voice trembling. "He's just... he doesn't mean it. He's just upset."

Dakota sat up slowly, wiping at his tear-streaked face. "He always means it," he said, his voice hoarse.

His mother looked down, her lips pressed into a thin line. "He's trying to help you," she said weakly. "In his own way."

Dakota let out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and raw. "Help me? By telling me I'm a mistake? By calling me sick?"

"He doesn't know how to handle... this," she said, her voice faltering.

"This?" Dakota repeated, his tone incredulous. "You mean me? Who I am?"

She didn't answer, and the silence was louder than any words she could have said.

"I'm tired, Mom," Dakota said finally, his voice breaking. "I'm so tired of pretending, of trying to be what he wants me to be. I can't do it anymore."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she didn't move to comfort him. She simply nodded, her face a mask of pain and helplessness.

"I'll talk to him," she said softly. "Just... try to rest."

And with that, she turned and left, closing the door behind her.

Dakota stared at the door for a long moment before lying back down, his body heavy with exhaustion. He knew her words were empty promises, that nothing would change.

But for now, he let himself close his eyes, clinging to the faint memory of the freedom he'd felt at the party. It wasn't much, but it was something. And for now, that was enough to keep him going.

----

A/N: took me ages to update ts sorry fam🤦🏽‍♀️🤦🏽‍♀️ and when i do update it the chapter is short😒 i'm sorry i'll do better LOVE YOUU