“Ashes in the Air”

Some nights, the yelling at home started before dinner.

Slamming doors. Raised voices. Breaking things that couldn’t be fixed later with an apology. You used to try to block it out with music or the shower running, but that never really worked. Eventually, you stopped trying. You’d just slip out the back door, hoodie up, lighter in your pocket, weed tucked into your sock like a secret you were tired of keeping.

That night was colder than usual. You sat on the edge of the park bench, the wooden slats damp with the weight of evening. You didn’t even bother to wipe it off. Just pulled the blunt to your lips and let the smoke take over.

It didn’t fix anything. But it dulled the ache for a while.

You heard Kevin’s footsteps before you saw him. His walk was always quiet, but you knew it. He didn’t call your name or ask what you were doing. He just sat beside you, his thigh pressed lightly against yours, his hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets.

“You been here long?” he asked.

You shrugged. “Long enough.”

He looked at the blunt in your hand, then at your face. You could tell he hated seeing you like this—but not because you were high. Because he knew why you had to be.

“I heard your dad yelling,” he said quietly. “From the street.”

Your stomach twisted. You wanted to vanish into the smoke.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you admitted, voice thin.

“You could’ve come to my house.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t want to be a burden. You were already too much. Too quiet when you should speak. Too high when you should be sober. Too angry when all you wanted to do was cry.

“I’m not trying to save you,” Kevin said suddenly, his voice firm but soft. “I know I can’t fix any of it. But I don’t care how messy things are. You’re not too much for me.”

You looked over at him, your eyes glassy—not just from the weed.

“Then why do you always come find me?” you asked, bitter. “I’m always high. I’m always breaking. Why do you even want to deal with this?”

Kevin leaned in closer. “Because I’d rather sit with you in the dark than be in the light without you.”

You looked away fast, biting your cheek to keep from crying. But Kevin didn’t let you hide. He pulled you into his chest, holding you so tightly you could feel his heart beating.

“I don’t need you to be okay,” he whispered into your hair. “I just need you to know you’re not alone. Not anymore.”

You clutched the fabric of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to the earth.

You were codependent on weed—but if you were being honest, you were starting to think you were codependent on him too. Not in the unhealthy way. But in the “he makes the world stop spinning for a second” kind of way. Like he was your calm in a storm you’d been stuck in for years.

And maybe, just maybe, that meant something could change.