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THANKS TO THE MENDOZA INSTITUTE, I got a long weekend, but considering there wasn't any alcohol involved, it wasn't very fun. I may as well have been suffering away in class. At least there I could have smuggled in vodka in a water bottle. Which I totally don't do.
I spent the past two and a half days in my tiny room at institute. I never got another chance to speak to Thea, and Dr. El-Hashem only came in twice a day to check up on me. Other than that, people like Evil Attractive Lab Coat Man took care of me. Eventually, however, they let me go, although they made me sign a contract stating that I'd go back in every other day for a checkup.
Now, I stand outside of my home for a couple of seconds, glad to finally be back. My house is covered in grafiti, my personal favorite being a spray-painted golden dick with a smiley face and a crown on it. (I may or may not have done that one myself.) The rest really isn't all that much: the dick is the most exciting part. The house itself is old and run-down, a foursquare style tri-level that was once painted white, but is now so chipped and dirty it's like an underwater wasteland, a kaleidoscope of murky grays and browns.
As I finally step inside, the familiar sound of my front door scraping open greets my ears. "Papà?" I call, my voice dully echoing through the foyer. "Papà, I'm home."
The only response is a silent house. No lights are on, but all of the windows have been left open. The sunlight leaking in swirls dust around like thin strips of confetti, and the frigid fresh air fills my lungs like honey. The only noise is the old, rotting floorboards creaking under my feet as I walk into the living room.
SMACK. I glance up, looking out the glass doors leading to our back porch. A tiny silvery-blue-and-tan dog wags his tail aggressively at me, looking as if he's going to kill me the second he's set loose. Cerberus. The world's evilest Yorkshire terrier. Home sweet home. But, I realize, standing behind him is my dad.
He looks a bit like me, older but only by a little (and he doesn't really look older than me at all; you know Asians age like fine wine): same wavy, dark brown hair, same awkwardly lanky build, same intense look in his eyes. But his skin has more of an olive tint than mine, and his eyes are a bitter hazel framed in thick, long lashes, where mine are a dull shade of brown.
Dad pulls the door open, his lips splitting open into a grin. "My son!"
Cerberus rushes inside and begins to suspiciously sniff at my ankles as I throw my arms around my dad's shoulders and bury my head in his chest, squeezing my eyes shut. "Papà!"
Cerberus decides to take this moment to viciously attack my feet. I let it happen. It's easier than fighting it.
"Cain, where have you been?" Dad holds me at arm-length to quickly check me over to make sure I'm not actively missing any limbs.
