48. Sophie

48

SOPHIE

“ M y God,” I say, looking back at the house. “They’re either fucking or fighting.”

Malik doesn’t even blink. “There are worse things.”

“Like what?” Hayley shoots back. “My parents are disgusting.”

“Like poverty.” Malik’s gun is steady in his hands as he aims. “Your parents give you a good life.”

Hayley rolls her eyes, like it's too much effort to argue. “Whatever,” she says, watching as he hits the target dead center. “Who asked you, anyway?”

Speaking of bonding, Dad decided the way to “fix” everything is to have us all do ridiculous shit together. He keeps coming up with these outlandish ideas. Two days ago, it was snowmobiles. Today it’s guns, yesterday it was firewalking.

Yeah. Firewalking.

We’re in the mountains, miles from the nearest hospital, with literally no one around, and Dad thinks it’s a good idea to have us walk barefoot over hot coals, like that’s gonna somehow make us feel like a family again. Of course, Malik’s into it. He’s all in, like somehow he can’t believe his luck, like this is the family he’s always wanted.

He still refuses to talk to me about his parents. But that’s fine. There’s not a lot to do here, so I figure it won’t be long before he cracks.

Hayley’s kind of half-interested in Dad’s family bonding experiments, but I can tell she’s only going along with it because it’s one of those moments where she has to be a part of the “team.” Mom and Dad had a bit of an argument over his latest internet purchase, but they “made up” and now she’s not saying anything. It’s easier for her to keep quiet and let Dad do what Dad does. But it’s me— I’m the one who’s just sitting there, watching them, waiting for something to make sense.

And then Dad tells Hayley he needs to discuss something important with her, and I find myself drawn into their conversation.

“Hayley,” he says, like he’s about to explain some grand plan. “There are a few things we need to get straight.”

She doesn’t look up right away. She knows what this is about. His “important” conversations always seem to come with a hidden agenda. Then he looks at me, his eyes narrow, and I already know: I’m about to hear something that will make my skin crawl.

“I’ve taken care of it,” he says, looking at my sister with an expression more serious than I’ve seen on him in a while.

I don’t ask what “it” is. I don’t care. He’s said enough cryptic shit to make me wary of any vague pronouncements. But I let him keep going.

“I’ve hired someone,” he tells her. “They’re going to scare the hell out of Elliot. He’s not going to bother Zoe, not again. But listen—it’s not your problem anymore, Hayley. And your mother and I, we need everything you’ve been doing to stop. It has to stop. Do you understand?”

Hayley just stares at him. There’s a moment of silence, just enough for me to absorb what he’s saying. It’s sickening, in a way. At first, it seems she’s relieved that he’s solving problems the only way he knows how—through intimidation, through threats, through violence.

“You need to move on,” Dad says, voice hardening. “This isn’t healthy—and I think you know it. It’s going to get you in a lot of trouble, Hayley.”

She does not take what he’s said lightly. She throws one of her signature temper tantrums. She tells him that nothing ever feels like "her concern" anymore. She says she doesn’t care about Elliot, not really. But that she’s not relieved. For once in her life she wanted something for herself. She wanted to handle something herself.

But instead, he’s fixed it for her, like always , and now she just feels empty. Like something’s wrong with her—like something’s missing. She’s stuck here, in this stupid house in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to show for it but this weird, hollow feeling in her chest.

Dad gives me one of his forced smiles, the kind he thinks is comforting but is actually just hollow. He doesn’t take her seriously, which I think is a mistake. He simply pats her head and says, “It’s going to be okay, Hayley.”

I can feel the tension thickening the air between us, a silent storm brewing that none of us can ignore. Hayley stands there, her jaw clenched, eyes darting away from Dad’s empty reassurances. It’s like watching a fragile vase teeter on the edge of a shelf, waiting to shatter. Everyone else seems lost in their own thoughts, the absurdity of Dad’s bonding activities barely registering amid the underlying discord.

He walks out but the moment stretches on, heavy and suffocating, making the large house feel claustrophobic. I survey the room, noticing the uneasy glances exchanged between Malik and Mom, each of us silently acknowledging the strained dynamics at play .

“Don’t worry,” Mom says. “I’m sure your dad has something good up his sleeve—something fun.”

Finally, Hayley can’t hold it in any longer. She lets out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and filled with resentment. “Right. Because that’s what this family needs,” Hayley says, rolling her eyes. "Fun." She looks right at me. “And you—I hate you.”

I just shrug. “I don’t know what you want from me. I didn’t ask for any of this.”

“No, you didn’t. But you’re the one who gets to have everything handed to you, aren’t you? You’re the reason we’re stuck here.”

There’s a sudden, sharp noise—a crack from the window, a gust of cold wind cutting through the cracks. And then I see it.

A flamethrower.

It’s Dad, of course. Of course. He’s standing in the middle of the clearing, holding this enormous contraption like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

I suck in a breath. “What the hell is he doing now?”

“He’s built a bonfire,” Mom says. “Took him all day.”

Malik moves to the window. “It’s very impressive.”

Mom nods. “Michael does not do things half-assed.”

And just like that, it’s like the energy in the room shifts again. Like it’s suddenly a warning to everyone, not just me. A chill settles in my bones, and it's not from the weather.

Dad flicks the switch. Flames roar from the flamethrower, casting monstrous shadows that dance on the walls.

“Might as well go indulge him,” Mom says. “He’s gone to all this trouble.”

We head outside, gathering around the fire. The temperature drops, and darkness presses in. I watch the flames grow, a silent dread sinking into my gut. Maybe, just maybe, everything’s about to burn.