In Memory by CJ Lyons Page A

father’s, staring deeply.
    “Don’t say another word.” He commanded.
    “Father…”
    Something in the larger man snapped. He attacked, punching and swiping with the knife, determined to harm any available part of his son.
    “I’m sorry!” screamed Noah, shielding himself from the flurry of attacks. Blood spattered onto the polished tile, spreading and joining together. “I’m sorry !!” he screamed, over and over, trying to escape.
    I suppose his screams went unnoticed due to the sheer size of their estate.
    As of right now, he’s sleeping on the couch in the living room. I opted to sit in the large armchair beside the fireplace, which I started up a little while ago, before he got here. It’s strange to look at him, sleeping quietly, when flashes of him in my dream keep interrupting me.
    He showed up here after school, shiveri ng and shaking in the rain. W as only drizzling a bit, but he still looked pretty cold. We didn’t speak much, he seemed really out of it. G ave him some dry clothes, and grabbed all of the blankets off the bed in the spare room for him to use.
    He was asleep almost as soon as he settled into the couch. Before he was totally gone, he kept repeating “Thank you, thank you…”
    Didn’t reply. J ust tucked him in and cleared his hair from his face. There’s still a faded bruise on the side of his face, from that punch that rattled in my mind as I thought about it. There’s also a small cut with a bruise around it on his forehead that I hadn’t noticed before.
    Another thing I just noticed as I’m sitting here is that he breathes really shakily through his mouth. Normally, I’d assume he had a cold or something, but just because it’s him, I think he’s in pain.
    W oke him up to give him some painkillers, which he blearily took without question.
    “You… you’re here…” he mumbled, exhaling softly, “I just thought I was a dream… I’m still asleep but… when I got home, you’d already thrown it out… then the lighthouse turned back on….”
    He’s a bit strange when he’s half-asleep. Correction: He’s a bit strange all the time. More so when he’s sleep-deprived.
    Just looking at him makes me feel tired. Maybe I’ll have a short nap before dinner.
     
    142 Days, 8 October, Wednesday
    So my short nap ended up being more like a full night’s sleep at a bizarre time of the day. W as six am when I woke up, with my diary in my hands, and the fire completely dead. One of the spare room blankets was draped over me. L ooked over to the couch; Noah was curled in a ball underneath the thin flannel blanket he kept.
    S tood up and stretched, picked up my pre-warmed quilt, and placed it on him, willing some warmth onto him.
    He always looks so cold.
    W ent to the closet and grabbed the small space heater Terra found at a garage sale. After setting it up and switching it on, I went up to my room and resumed sleeping in my own bed.
    Terra came and woke me up at about 11:15, telling me to get up and go make brunch for everyone. Clearly she didn’t care I was blatantly skipping school. I wonder if she even knows that it’s Wednesday…
    When I finally dragged myself out of bed, she had already awakened Noah, who was sitting on the couch with a blanket around him. He still looked tired and confused, even after sleeping that long.
    “Good morning!” I greeted him cheerfully, figuring this would be an appropriate way to start our day.
    “Good morning.” He replied, studying me carefully. I’m used to his piercing stares by now, they don’t freak me out anymore.
    “What do you want for brunch?”
    He looked at me curiously. “For brunch…?”
    “Yeah, I’m thinking I want some waffles.”
    I led the way into the kitchen, smiling as Terra downed a whole cup of coffee. At least she can make coffee without burning the house down. Heh, I just realised she could be reading this. Whoops, oh well. No erasing ink.
    It was a wei rd breakfast, in retrospect. D idn’t