Vay was apprehensive. Less than sixty hours ago his life had been normal—his mother was alive, he was finishing up his last year of high school in Manhattan, and he knew what he wanted to do with his life. He had applied, auditioned, and was accepted into Julia Arts’ theatre programme—something that had flushed him with more excitement than he ever experienced. It wasn’t like he wanted to be famous, or rich. He just wanted to explore himself through people, art, and the stage. That was his happiness. Everything seemed aligned; everything was right. That is, until the sudden death of his mother.<br/><br/>Now where was Vay? Vay was anywhere but near Manhattan, or Julia Arts. He was in a cab in Milwaukee, and on top of the sudden loss of his mother, he was on his way to live with his father and sister, whom he hadn’t spoken to, much less seen in twelve years or more. He had a right to feel sick, angry, and anxious. His dreams seemed more and more out of touch with each mile the plane travelled, each tick of the cab metre.<em>God, I feel like sticking my head out of the window and hurling,</em>he thought.<br/><br/>The cab hit a bump. He almost lurched out of his seat.<br/><br/>‘You okay man?’ the cab driver asked. He looked Indian, or African. Or Arabic. Vay couldn’t really tell.<br/><br/>‘Yeah… it’s just—I’ll be fine; a little queasy from the plane ride,’ Vay answered.<br/><br/>It was pitch black outside. Snow falling slowly everywhere.<br/><br/>He felt so out of himself, so distant from who he was. In the reflection of the window he saw someone—a blond boy with blue eyes, skin paler than normal, and his face was hollow. Dark circles painted themselves just below where his eyes lost their light. That didn’t look like the Vay Vogel he remembered. That looked like a ghost.<br/><br/>Finally, they pulled up to a curb of a one storey duplex.<em>So half of that is my new home,</em>Vay thought quietly. He reached out to open the cab door, but it felt heavy. Honestly, he was afraid—afraid to step out, afraid of what might happen when he reached the doorstep of that duplex and he rang the bell. It didn’t feel like home—home was Manhattan, noisy streets, sirens every fifteen minutes or so. Home was warm, where he could recite plays and have his mother to encourage his performances. But now his home was empty, and his mother was dead.<br/><br/>So be it.<br/><br/>The trunk of the cab clicked open and slammed shut as he hoisted his luggage. The driver offered helped but Vay didn’t hear. He couldn’t shake himself out of the growing anxiety and dread that was weighing in his stomach. ‘Fuck, please let them be normal,’ he said aloud in exasperation. Who would listen to that delusional cry? God? The Universe? The cab driver he just paid? Maybe something out there would deliver him what he wanted.<br/><br/>As he remembered when he was five or so, his father wasn’t quite normal. The whole house really, wasn’t. For some reason, they always lived in the nude. Dinner? In the nude. T.V.? In the nude. Reading? In the nude. They even exercised and played Monopoly butt fucking naked.<em>Jesus Christ, I don’t think I can handle it if they’re still like that. Belle’s sixteen?</em>At his mother’s funeral he didn’t even recognise her.<em>Seeing her naked would be…</em><br/><br/>Vay shook his head of the thought. It was just too disturbing. Now he was at the doorstep of his father’s house with his finger touching the doorbell. Could he do it? Could he push the button and open a new life for him? He couldn't imagine what it'd be like to step through that door and proclaim it his new home, at least until he graduated. He paused, and then glanced back at the taxi. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his forehead. It wasn’t too late to turn back—to dump his luggage back in the trunk, get back in the cab, and then… figure out<em>something</em>.<br/><br/><em>Okay, I’m being ridiculous now. Just ring the fucking doorbell, Vay.</em>He turned his head back—and felt his heart stop. In the neighbour’s window, he saw her—the same girl he had tumbled and fell on in the airport. Back then, he was completely flustered. He hadn’t been watching where he was going, and somehow he ended on top of her with his face inches from her lips. She had been just as surprised as he was, brown eyes staring back at him, completely bewildered. He remembered the smell of her hair, the feel of her breath against his cheek, and the blood rushing to his face—and between his legs. Her hands had been on his stomach as if to break his fall. He could feel that warm sensation all over again.<br/><br/>He wrenched his head forward.<em>That can’t be the same girl. That’s nuts. Just ring the damn doorbell, Vay.</em>With a sigh, he pushed the plastic button and felt it click.<br/><br/>-Cake<br/>