Dust motes floated in a beam of sunlight suspended by the window. Gale sat in the usual spot - a cheap swivel chair in the living room. He stared blankly at the table in front of him, his only company a near-empty coffee mug and an empty protein bar wrapper. 

Music blared from another room in the house, the dull sounds shooting spikes of annoyance into Gale’s brain. He sighed, stood up, and walked towards the distraction. In the back hallway, behind a rolling barn-style door was his sister’s room. As he pulled the door open, the sounds of a children’s show roared into his already aching mind. 

“Hey! Turn it down!” Gale shouted towards his sister. She was sitting in her wheelchair, head tilted towards one direction, staring at the tv. She looked towards the door smiling, singing along with the show, and Gale’s annoyance disappeared, only to be replaced by a familiar guilt. She didn’t respond; Gale closed the door, sighed, and walked back to his spot. 

He needed to get out tonight. Escape. Every day was the same routine. Wake up, do the morning routine for his sister, get her food, prepare her drinks, clean her room, thing after little thing that didn’t feel particularly heavy in a vacuum, but when building up felt like a crushing weight bearing down on his lungs. Gale flipped open his phone and texted his aunt.

Hey, need a break. Can you watch Zoey tonight?

He stared at the phone blankly, but to his relief a reply came swiftly.

Tonight? I can swing by later after work.

Gale’s head fell backwards, a smile plastering across his face. He quickly navigated his phone screen to message Aaron, his longtime best friend. 

Hey, got a day off from Zoey duty. Bar tonight, you don’t get a choice. 

Aaron shot back an image of a skeleton. Gale smirked. 

Usual place, 7. 

Gale closed his phone. He walked towards his sisters room and cracked the door open. He saw her peacefully singing, unaware to the crushing reality that had been placed on his shoulders. He smiled and shut the door quietly. 

By coincidence, Gale and Aaron ran into two of his friends from high school. Gale didn’t particularly intend to talk with them much; the constant stream of responsibility for his sister had worn down his nerves. Gale preferred spending time alone with Aaron— he didn’t speak frequently, leaving the pace of conversation for Gale to set; yet he was funny, clever, and clearly put the wellbeing of others ahead of his own. Gale enjoyed having Aaron dote on him. It was the only time he was being taken care of, rather than caretaking for someone else. 

Unfortunately, Sam and Lily decided to stick to them like glue. Gale noticed Aaron was uncomfortable. He humored their conversation, pushing down the itch of irritation at their constant talking. He really wasn’t in the mood. Gale decided to follow Aaron out for a smoke. The silence between them was worth a thousand words from another mouth. 

Gale excused himself and left the bar. Not seeing Aaron immediately, he looked off towards the side and saw something that made his heart drop. He saw Aaron, frightened, sitting with his hands raised, back stiff, threatened by an armed robber. 

Reason left Gale’s mind. His mind flashed with memories, years of hardship, exhaustion and grief. Yet beside him all along, Aaron’s face stood out. It felt like a spike had driven into his heart, and rage flooded him. 

“Wait— Leave him alone!” Gale shouted, pushing aside the tremor of fear as he sprinted towards the gunman. He couldn’t lose Aaron. Anyone but him. 

Gale didn’t recall much of what happened after. Adrenaline, dull, thudding pain, but the thing that lingered was the image of his best friend, covered in blood. Images overlapped in his mind. Aaron’s face covered in mud, grinning. His sister’s face, covered in food as she grinned at dinner. It had been so long since he’d seen Aaron smile. He raised his hand and wiped Aaron’s cheek. His hand fell to the ground.

In his final moments, Gale’s heart burned with longing. He wanted to be free. Free of responsibility. Free to make his own choices. Gale’s last thought was a desire to start life anew.

ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ Novᴇl_Fire(.)net