It Started With A High Kick

5.

Tristan clutched his head, tightening his hands around fistfuls of hair.

"Damn," he muttered, standing up from his previously hunched over position so fast he knocked over his desk chair. He paced around and around the room restlessly. Starting at the desk, ten long strides to his bed. A turn. Eight fast paces to his closet. Another turn. Ten footsteps, past the door. Another turn, and it was eight strides past his dresser and back to his desk. How symbolic, he thought with a mirthless smile. Here he was, Tristan Westley, Prisoner Extraordinaire. A prisoner of his own room. A prisoner of his own life.

Again, a humorless chuckle. His life. Now that was something he hadn't been in control of for a long time. At least he could leave his room when he chose to, if he ever felt so inclined.

On his fifth time around, he stopped short when he spotted a framed photo of his whole family on his dresser. It had been taken two years ago. When he saw his dad standing between himself and his mom, a hot, fresh wave of anger surged through him.

"Damn you," Tristan shouted out the open window, for the whole street to hear. "You can go to hell!"

He grabbed his keys off his desk. Stuffed his socked feet into sneakers, and trotted down the stairs, running a frustrated hand through his dark blonde hair.

"I'm going out," he said to Winter, who was sitting at the dining table correcting Matty's math homework, twisting a lock of hair around her finger agitatedly. Apparently a lot of the questions were answered incorrectly, because she kept marking little checks with her pencil. Matty was sitting a couple feet away on the living room floor, reading a book, happily oblivious to Winter's distress. "Where's Eva?"

She looked up, and her eyes darkened for a moment. "I don't know," Winter muttered. "Go look for her yourself, if everyone's so worried about her."

Tristan was taken aback by her anger, but then something clicked into place in his mind. His eyes softened understandingly. For a moment, all of his own anger evaporated.

"Just wanted to make sure she was helping out too," he said gently. "Just wanted to make sure she hadn't dumped everything on you."

Suddenly the fight seemed to go out of her. Winter nodded slowly, looking down.

"Eva's out back helping Emily with a science project," she said quietly. She hesitated. "I'm sorry for snapping at you, Tristan," she said in an even softer voice, still refusing to meet his eyes.

He waved it off, then dropped a brotherly kiss on top of her head. "Don't worry about it. One day we're all going to snap, I just know it. That day'll be nothing compared to a few harsh words. Look at me, Winter," he said gently.

She obliged, and he was even more startled by the fact that her eyes were suddenly sparkling with tears of frustration.

"It'll all be okay. Alright?"

"Promise?" she whispered. She looked so lost; he knew she just needed to hear the reassuring answer at the moment, whether it was truthful or not.

"I promise," he whispered back. "I'll be back in half an hour." He hugged her tightly.

When they separated, she was blinking back her tears forcefully. "Matty," she called, her voice carrying no trace of a waver. "Come look at these. I think you misunderstood the directions because… well… you didn't get a single one right…"

Matty made a sound of confusion and dismay, and scrambled over to her side.

Tristan took one last look back at Winter as he made his way out of the kitchen. What a girl, he thought. One day some guy would be very, very lucky to have her.

Moments later, he was seated in the Honda Civic, and inserted his keys slowly into the ignition.

Seven minutes after that, he was parked under a tree by the park.

He wondered to himself as he pulled back the seat and settled down with his eyes closed. Anger never solved any problems in the long term, was what he had heard. Winter seemed to be full of it at the moment. Contained anger. Maybe it worked for her. Everyone had their own ways of dealing.

And what about myself? Tristan pondered. Am I full of anger?

The answer wasn't simple. He wasn't full of anger. No, he was angry, but that wasn't all.

Tristan was starting college in the fall. At least, he had planned on attending university. Now he wasn't so sure. How could he leave Eva to deal with the rest of the kids like that, with their father being gone all the time at work? He just couldn't. He didn't have the heart.

There goes another part of my life, he thought bitterly. He had received a scholarship to the University of California, San Diego. A scholarship . He had been to see the campus. It was nice. It was a place he could see himself spending the next four years.

Tristan could only stay at the park for a few minutes longer. He had promised Winter half an hour, but it was so peaceful here. He could actually think, surrounded by sunlight and trees, removed from the hell that was now attached to him as permanently as his own shadow - his family and home.

Tristan was suddenly filled with a fleeting sense of freedom. He could choose to leave and never come back. He had a car. He had the keys. What was stopping him? He could pack and drive off into the sunset, free from all obligations.

With a heavy crash though, he was brought back to reality. No. He sighed. He was made of better stuff than that. No matter how much he wanted to get away, he knew he couldn't; it would be too selfish of him.

With another sigh, Tristan started up the ignition again and started back for home.