The house looms large before him, casting dark shadows over the garden. The grass is taller than his parents ever allowed, and cobwebs have connected the chairs on the porch. Julian glances down at his phone, casting one last look at the texts he sent Callie, assuring her that his train ride went fine, that he was fine, thank you, and yes, he had gotten home safe, goodnight Callie. He switches the device off and pockets it.
Four hours till dawn. He’ll be long gone by then. Picking up his container, he walks up to the porch. His key is old but thankfully still works fine, and it only takes a bit of jiggling to unlock the front door. He decides not to ponder on his parents never changing the locks, knows deep down that they simply didn’t want to waste any money on it. On him. Whatever.
Darkness swallows him the moment he steps through the door. He reaches for the light switch, but nothing happens when he presses it down. Figures. Guess he’ll just have to use his lighter, even if it does little to illuminate his surroundings. When he moves, the floor creaks beneath his weight. He remembers a time when he knew precisely where to step to avoid those noises, and how hard he could press on a floorboard before it would be audible from the other rooms.
Picture frames decorate the walls, perfectly aligned. His parents’ wedding; a young man and woman smiling widely as they embrace each other. His hair is gelled back, hers tied into a tight knot, an elegant veil falling down her shoulders. Another frame, the same happy couple, this time a few years older. She’s holding a baby in her arms, looking down with a loving smile. As Julian’s eyes wander from frame to frame, it feels as if he’s observing a life which never existed. One in which his father held him close, and his mother never lost her patience. There are over a dozen pictures of him on these walls, but they’re all from when he was young, before he even started middle school. Before the smiles turned into frowns and conversations fell silent. Like they’re trying to keep him there, frozen in time. That’s what they always wanted, isn’t it?
With renewed resolve, he heads to the end of the hallway. He knows what he’ll find even before he opens the door, but it still unnerves him to see his room exactly as it was the day he left. His bed is made, a last peace offering to his mother, who hated nothing more than messiness. It was one of the many things they disagreed on. He’d always been too messy for her, too muddled.
The carpet muffles his footsteps as he walks to his childhood desk, making him feel like a ghost. There’s another picture on the desk, not framed this time. He can guess why: the sullen expression of his younger self doesn’t quite fit the image his parents liked to create. It must’ve been a school picture, if the uniform and grey background are anything to go by. His blonde curls were tucked behind his ears, and crossed arms revealed his discomfort. Seeing it awakens a familiar sorrow, but there’s more to it now. He knows things get better, he’s lived it. The only thing stronger than that shining hope that’s saturated his life these past few years is his anger. There’s no way of fixing the past, but he’ll be damned if he continues to let it haunt him.
It only takes seconds to pour the petrol over the bed, desk, carpet. Once he’s done, he steps out of the room and flicks on the lighter once more, illuminating the picture, letting its flame catch onto the paper. He drops it to the ground and lets the fire spread. It’s surprisingly easy to walk away.
Ten minutes later, Julian is outside again, leaning against the fence as he watches the house that was never a home burn to ashes.