chapter 1

Chapter 1

The bright light hummed overhead of Ronin, shining onto the release paper that lay in front of him as well as the anticipating man who sat across the desk awaiting a movement from his submissive self.

The man cleared his throat, interrupting Ronin's deep thoughts. He had pondered this day and yet proceeded to freeze in the very action he dreaded. Taking the pen, he began to write despite his trembling hand that was filled with a cold sweat, coated in the last 14 months he had spent in the Clinton County juvenile detention center.

Setting the pen down slowly, his anxious eyes met with the almost emotionless man. His wrinkled cheeks straightened as he began to speak.

"This confirms your release conditions, including adherence to your 9 pm curfew, no contact with known gang members or prior associates, weekly check-ins with your probation officer, and attendance at said counseling sessions," the man's voice had lagged on in the same monotone.

"You will meet an officer in the lobby, from which he will drive you home," the man's voice finished in a scratch.

Ronin got up quickly, grabbing the clear bag that contained his little belongings. He left the room, followed by a bigger and younger man. Ronin was adorned in the thin facility clothes he continued to wear, refusing to put on the clothes that reeked of his past, the past that had narrated itself hundreds of times over confined months.

Ronin met the officer in the said lobby; he appeared friendly, and yet he could tell the man was disappointed. He followed that feeling into the long black car he hesitated to get into, holding back the actions he wanted to release. His mind flashed when seated in the car; he could envision his cuffed hands and the horrid feeling he felt that day began to surface. Ronin's heavy breathing and frantic glances around the back seat alerted the man as he adjusted the mirror, capturing Ronin's flushed face.

It had only gotten worse as they drew near to his father's house; Ronin couldn't count it as his own anymore for nothing he could call his.

"Alright, here's your stop," the man said, interrupting Ronin's confession to himself. He looked at the man before fumbling the door quickly as he wanted to escape the car. "Ronin," the man's voice called him back, "Don't fuck things up this time." His voice was almost incurring as Ronin nodded as if he were shaking.

His body remained in its jumpy stage, only getting worse as he cracked the door open; a wave of nostalgia flew over him, soon to become a tsunami of overwhelming emotions as his broken eyes met his father's longing face that broke out into a wide smile that he had practiced for Ronin's return.

He let go of the door. He didn't hesitate. He couldn't, as his arms wrapped around his father's figure, which had changed over time. Ronin's eyes grew wet, and his mouth hung open as he hugged his father, sobbing into his loose shirt. Ronin's father's eyes bulged as the difference in Ronin spiked up his spine; wrapping his arms tightly around Ronin, he returned the embrace.

"I'm so sorry," Ronin began to plead, scaring his father. "It's okay, Ronin," he assured, rubbing Ronin's wet back, likely covered in his anxiousness that had longed for any way out.

And had finally gotten its dreaded release, Ronin following close behind as he looked up at his father, his eyes filled with a layer of tears he had held back. His father's eyes met those hopeless eyes as he slid his comforting hands up from Ronin's back until he was holding Ronin's head; his hair had been buzzed short, and Ronin was almost unrecognizable; his father held Ronin close again, his eyes beginning to water as he felt Ronin's seek for comfort. As his father provided as much as he could, Ronin wished the moment would never end, and for the next minute, that reality was ceased.

---

After he and his father had parted, embarrassed after their vulnerability filled the room at least neck deep, Ronin had climbed the stairs, settling above the high water.

Ronin opened the door to his room, the floor had built dust and his clutter hadn't moved along with the boxes of clothes he never put away. Ronin looked around, attempting to take it in. He found his ability to breathe sharply cut; he couldn't do it. The room still smelt of cigarettes. Even if the smoke had cleared, it still played his actions on the bare walls.

A horrid feeling erupted through him, for this was the one thing that hadn't changed. His stomach dropped in disgust as he dashed to the bathroom, suddenly huddling over the toilet. He felt sick to his stomach. It was too much; he began to repeat the words he had spoken in that room, as well as what had rung in his ears, the ears he gripped tightly, scrunching his face as he winced, attempting to hold in the outburst he had feared would happen again.

He bent up from the ground, meeting the mirror that looked at him; a pathetic boy looked back at him; his hair shaved short like his will. It had taken Ronin a couple of minutes to realize it was himself, or maybe he couldn't admit it, afraid of what he had become.

His father had heard the commotion as he found Ronin scared straight; his eyes glared into the mirror that insulted him; still covering an ear, his father led him out of the bathroom with a comforting hand. He gestured to Ronin's room before even he could feel a shiver of regret from Ronin trickle up his spine. Ronin had taken the stairs quickly, glancing back at the door repetitively, "I-it's ok," his father struggled to understand Ronin's fit.

"I can't go in there," Ronin began to tell his dad, unaware he had repeated it.

"We're not going in there, Ronin." His father's patience had begun to deplete as he stared at Ronin, watching as he looked across the living room, his arms locked closely at his sides.

His father soon took their place as he seated Ronin on the old couch; he bent down, laying his arms on either side of Ronin's legs as they jerked up and down following the repetitive tapping of his foot.

"Ronin, what's going on?" His father asked looking up at Ronin for an answer.

"I don't know," Ronin answered quickly, avoiding eye contact. His head spun as he tried to control everything inside it; he hated his lack of control. He had only wished he could tell his father everything as he read it on a list in his crowded thoughts. His father placed his hand on Ronin's bare head, suddenly relieving the fast thinking he had been enveloped in as his eyes met his father's. His breathing began to calm as his legs did the same, eventually ending in his rough voice, "Now don't pull that shit again, you scared me," he said with a grin, to which Ronin returned slowly.