Ryan tried to ignore the icy gusts that knocked against the door. He tried to ignore that the old television had a constant buzzing sound that was driving his headache further into his skull. He tried to ignore that the bottle of vodka he brought with him was almost empty. He tried to ignore how uncomfortable his neck was as he leaned against the cheap headboard in a rundown motel. He wanted to ignore everything, he wasn’t even sure what time it was, just that the sun had fallen at least five episodes of a trashy cable show earlier.

The show he couldn’t bring himself to change the channel from was one he had already seen every episode of. Some sitcom that finished airing the year he was born, but he still got to enjoy through reruns late at night. He and his dad would sit and watch it before bed on the weekends. Every joke that was made, every time they played the laugh track, Ryan would look to his father to see if he should laugh or not. Even if he didn’t understand what was being said, he followed along with his father. Sometimes he would ask what made it funny, and his dad would try his best to explain it, though he rarely did well. At best he could fill in the gaps of a confusing innuendo.

He did think it was unfortunate that most of his fond memories with his father involved them watching TV, but he’d rather that than none at all. They would still chat and be in each other’s company. And there were some good times without it. He had taught Ryan how to fish, and how to clean and cook what they caught. His father had shown patience, then. Could he do it again?

There was the day his father cried. Ryan was young, and made a rude comment about the cheap food they had to eat. His father should have gotten angry, but instead became somber and teared up, apologizing and promising for things to change. It was the first and last time he witnessed it. Afterwards, their money troubles lightened up. There was something inside of him worth saving, right?

Ryan hated thinking about it. He had thought about it too much, for too long.

I should get some sleep, he thought as he swirled the remaining shot and a half of vodka around the bottle. After I finish this.

While he unscrewed the lid he had optimistically put back on each time he took a drink, he remembered the first beer he shared with his dad. They had both pretended it was his first time drinking, though the empty cans that filled their recycle bin knew it differently. He was eighteen, a week after he graduated. Still technically under the legal age, but it was their home. His dad told him how happy he was to see him graduate, how exciting his future would be. He spoke of his youth, how he felt worthless until he met his mother and they had Ryan.

I can’t just abandon him! He’s hurt too, he’s broken and doesn’t know what he’s doing. He… Ryan felt sick. He had felt sick since waking up and deciding he couldn’t go to work that day. A funeral was being held in his head, though for whom he wasn’t sure. The old him, his relationship with his father, his relationship with Dani.

He sniffed at the liquor he was procrastinating on, hoping it would make him vomit and he could look in the mirror to realize how pathetic he was. Ryan knew he couldn’t only focus on the good his father had done. What he and his family had done to Heather, what they said about their fellow man, it was evil. Their compassion was limited in its scope, and existed to make them feel secure, not to help others.

I’m sure Dani and Heather loved their family too. They’re stronger than me. They knew what life they wanted and made it happen. I’m weak, afraid, stupid, none of it makes sense, why can’t Dad change! Why do I have to be forced into this choice? He ruined it all, he’s forcing me to abandon him, he’ll be so lonely by himself, why can’t he see that!

A commercial for insurance tried to get his attention through a colorful mascot and he turned off the television, fed up with it all. His phone sat like a brick on the nightstand, powered down the second he called off of work. He wondered how many missed calls and texts he had from Dani. Wondered how long it took her to realize he had run away, or how worried she really was.

Maybe she thinks I’m dead.

It pained him to imagine what she and Simon were thinking. But they were smart. They would find out that he bailed on work and would hopefully realize he’d be home tomorrow. Although, looking at the bedside clock, it was already the next day.

The vodka called out to him again, explaining that all he had to do was finish the bottle and he would feel better. He told it he would get right on that, as soon as he was done watching the whirlpool he had made with it.

Dad would probably call Dani a fag and make her cry. Or, no, he would call me the fag and say Dani’s confused. He’d make it seem like he’s being cordial even if it’s all the same hate. I could never let them meet. How embarrassing would that be for her, she would feel awful, like I’m ashamed of her.

He traced the ugly floral pattern of the hotel’s blanket with his open hand.

I’m not, though. I don’t think I am. It’s different if it’s to protect her, right? Whatever, it’d make her feel like I am, so what’s the difference. I should call him right now and tell him I hate him. Tell him he was an awful father, that would really hurt him. I know that’s his soft spot, he deserves it.

Ryan reached for his phone with a shaky hand, before letting it drop onto nothing. He let the vodka roll onto the bed, not caring if it spilled or not and just cried into his palms.

Silently, he sat and waited to regain his own composure. He thought that any second he would calm down. His eyes would stop dehydrating him even further, his heavy, involuntary sighs when he breathed would normalize. When that didn’t happen, he got angrier.

Angry at himself for wanting to be so cruel to his own father. Angry at his father for wanting to do the same back to him and Dani. Angry at how he had drank so much when he was supposed to be slowing down.

He thought about Simon scolding him for messing up, and Dani forgiving him far more easily than he deserved, like she always did. He pictured her trying to make him feel better about his family, even if she was the one who deserved comforting. He saw her smile, clear as day, just because they made eye contact. She could be stubborn, and clingy, and awkward as hell, but she was good. She wouldn’t be cruel like Ryan and his father, even if someone deserved it.

And then he made his final decision, and felt relief.

Relief that he understood Dani and Heather a little bit better. Relief from his father’s pressure dissipating as his opinion of him sank. Relief that even though he was stupid and his dad was stupid, everything was stupid, and he laughed.

While his tears reached their end, he grabbed the vodka that had thankfully stayed in the bottle, and set it on the nightstand with its lid now screwed on tight. He forced himself out of the bed and to the sink where he filled a paper cup with water, over and over, gulping down each while avoiding the mirror that showed his red, wet face.

Maybe throwing up would actually help at this point.

He glanced at the toilet, before convincing himself that sticking his head in the toilet of a motel that probably cleaned it once a month was a bad idea. He staggered back to the bed and grabbed his phone, holding down the button to turn it back on.