*.*.*.*.*.*

Three days -- that's how much time has passed since mom left me forever.

I have begun to oscillate between two extremes. One where I feel like I can handle anything life throws at me, and will not be defeated. I mean, what is the worse that can happen? After losing the only source of energy in my life, nothing else seems unbearable. The other extreme is where I feel like I have nothing to live for. What use is my life without her?

The simple realization that I am an orphan, with both my parents gone, isn't so simple at all. Especially when my entire life revolved around my mom, losing her has hurt me more than I could have imagined in a lifetime.

People probably wondered why I put up with my stepdad, despite his abuse and physical violence. The truth is that I was only biding my time, waiting for that day when I would finally be eighteen, an adult, and be able to move out from the house my real dad left me and my mom but my stepdad took over.

This was my plan all along. If I can just wait and be the good kid till I'm eighteen, I'll be able to take my mom and leave, escape the life that was nothing but pain. Nobody knew that I was saving money, bit by bit, and hiding it in an old sock under my bedroom floorboards. Aside from handing everything I earned to my stepdad, the overtime I did, cutting down on school and sacrificing the moments I could have spent with friends or Haley, I had gone to work so I could have some spare cash.

My body would ache all over after the entire day's work and lack of food and sleep, my neck stiff and shoulders hurting painfully. But I would keep going, pushing myself forward and hoping to become capable of being the son my mom needed.

The plan was simple. When I'm eighteen, and if I have enough money, I'll take mom to a professional rehabilitation center. I had even gone to check a few nearby, making sure the place is safe and well-provided for, so my mom won't have any trouble. I also volunteered sometimes at the center, hoping that when the time came, I would be able to apply for a job wherever my mom was admitted. That would allow me to be with mom rather than leave her at the mercy of others.

If only I had known I would lose her three months before I turned eighteen.

Resting my head on my arms, which are wrapped around my knees, I begin to doze off. I'm sitting on the stairs outside my apartment, unable to gather up the courage to go inside.

I have lost count of how many times my stepdad kicked me out, forcing me to spend the night on these stairs in the freezing cold and the icy winds. It was on these steps that Haley first came to me and offered me a hand.

The thought of Haley battles against my need for sleep, and I straighten up, my head heavy and my entire body sore. I don't think I have slept since mom died, and I'm pretty certain not a bite has gone down my throat. I have no money on me, and stepping into my house and getting some requires an amount of strength I do not possess right now.

Digging weakly into my pocket, my fingers close around my phone, and I pull it out. The last time I saw it was earlier that morning when I received a call from the police station. They had wanted to see me again before they closed the case as 'accidental overdose'. Their concern was simple. Was I on drugs like my mom?

Samples of blood and urine were taken and sent to the lab. I had been asked to stay at the station for questioning until the results came back. I hadn't known some of the things they told me about substance use. Apparently, some drugs can be detected in the blood for three months to come, but others only remain in the bloodstream a few hours of a couple of days at most. No wonder they didn't want to delay the testing.

It was only after seeing that the results for negative for each of the thirteen drugs they had tested me for, that I was allowed to leave.

"Child services will be getting in touch with you soon," one of the officers had concluded.

"What?" I had gasped in response.

The mere thought of being sent to a shelter home until I turned eighteen, was enough to drive me out of the police station as soon as I could manage. Under no circumstance am I going to let myself be put in foster-care. I can take care of myself. I always have.

Pressing the button on the side of the phone long enough for the cracked screen to light up, I lean back against the cement walk and squint at the phone through exhausted eyes.

Seven missed calls and eighteen unread text messages -- that is what greets me when the phone turns on.

I click on the text messages icon, and it comes as no surprise to me that all the messages are from Haley, beginning from the evening of my mom's funeral to about an hour ago tonight.

8:10 p.m. -- Haley: Xavier, where are you?

10:23 p.m. -- Haley: Are you still at the graveyard?

1:56 a.m. -- Haley: Please come over, Xavier. You can spend the night here.

4:11 a.m. -- Haley: Where are you? Please reply. I'm so worried about you.

9:34 a.m. -- Haley: I'll make breakfast for us. Just come over.

12:02 p.m. -- Haley: A few hours, Xavier. Then you can leave.

2:41 p.m. -- Haley: Have you eaten anything? Your mom would want you to eat, you know.

5:33 p.m. -- Haley: Xavier, where are you? Please just say something.

6:07 p.m. -- Haley: Please, Xavier. I know dad keeps saying you need some space but ... I'm so worried about you.

9:25 p.m. -- Haley: Xavier?

12:46 a.m. -- Haley: I came by your house today, not telling dad. Where are you? The door was locked.

5:19 a.m. -- Haley: Just tell me you're okay and I'll stop bothering you.

8:59 a.m. -- Haley: Xavier ... please answer. I know you're upset about your mom but please talk to me. I won't say anything.

12:36 p.m. -- Haley: Please talk to me.

3:03 p.m. -- Haley: Xavier?

4:17 p.m. -- Haley: You promised me you won't hurt yourself. Remember that, okay?

6:22 p.m. -- Haley: Xavier ... I miss you so much.

8:48 p.m. -- Haley: Please ... Xavier ...

Groaning inaudibly and closing my eyes, I flex my neck muscles, wanting to ease the stiffness a little.

I would be lying to myself if I say I don't want to go see Haley. I want to be with her, wrapped in her comforting embrace and holding her warm hand. I want to see her say something silly and blush, giving me that awkward smile while she pretends to play it cool and fails miserably. I want to hear her make attempts at small-talk, something that I'm terrible at.

Maybe what I'm doing is wrong. Maybe I'm wrong to be pushing her away, even if it's necessary for the both of us. My intention is merely that I shouldn't rely on her to make things better. How would I feel if Haley was only with me because she needed me?

Closing my eyes and leaning back against the cool wall, I let my mind relax. I try to clear my head and just let things go for a while, tired of thinking about everything that is going on. I can't recall the last time I was completely carefree. Perhaps back when dad was alive.

'Xav, are you in here?' dad's voice echoes in my head. 'Your mom's been calling you.'

I had been hiding under my bed, scribbling on a stray piece of paper in the dim glow of my flashlight. Careful not to make a sound, I hurried towards the end of the poem, not wanting to get caught doing this mischievous deed.

'Where is he?' my mom's voice spoke, just overhead. She had joined dad now and was scanning the small space of my room to find me.

'Shh,' my dad instructed her, and I knew he had already solved the mystery of my disappearance.

Crawling on all fours, with the flashlight between my teeth and the handmade card clutched in my small fingers, I hurried out from under the bed. My mom jumped in surprise, and dad caught her just before she fell, laughing his head off and winking at me.

'You boys will be the death of me,' mom reprimanded, scowling first at dad, whom she shoved roughly, and then at me. 'What were you doing under that, Xavier? It's not clean.'

Dad gave me an encouraging smile and I grinned widely -- making the flashlight fall at my feet -- before holding up the crumbled card like a trophy. It was the first piece of poetry I ever wrote, and it was for my mom.

'Happy birthday, mama!'

I bounced up and down, and mom's eyes widened and mouth dropped open. She glanced towards me dad, who was beaming at me.

It was a hug that I got, and both mom and dad sat around the cake dad had secretly ordered without mom knowing. The cake was small, and the single candle we erected in the middle of it was melting quickly. Dad was the one who read out my poem, not once but three times. And when mom cut the cake, both dad and I sang the birthday song.

Laughter echoed in our house that day, and in my ears tonight, while I sit outside the house that is nothing but a forgotten memory.

My phone vibrates in my hand, and I reluctantly open my eyes to see who it is that is texting me.

Haley.

Even before I read the message, my resolution has begun to crumble. I know I said I won't go to her until I'm healed. But healing takes a long time. What if my process of healing is hurting her? What if when I'm healed, she needs time to heal the wounds that I'm giving her? What if by the time I'm ready, she's no longer waiting?

Unable to bear the thought of that, I click open the message and read.

10:29 - Haley: I'll leave my window open.

And everything is suddenly so obvious. The decision made.

I know just what I have to do.

*.*.*.*.*.*