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“Look at the Darkness, giving birth to the Sun.”
― Kahlil Gibran, A Tear and a Smile
Tyler is ten when he first gets into an actual fight. It had been him against three other kids a few years older than him.
He doesn’t remember how the fight started or why, but he remembers the feeling of skin splitting and breaking against his own, and the taste of iron hot in his mouth.
If he tries hard enough, he’ll remember that it had something to do with the way the older boys kept looking at his sister earlier, but Tyler doesn’t let the memory dwell for too long lest he ends up killing them in the process of quelling his anger.
They were at the park a few blocks near their house, and a few other kids from their neighborhood were also there to witness the unbidden violence unfold before their eyes, all eager to see who’d come out the victor.
A small circle was formed around him and the older kids, but no one dared to stop the fight or tried to help him, but he didn’t need anyone’s help, so he didn't bother asking anyone for it.
He knows he won the fight the second the last kid came crashing down along with his other friends, unmoving and bloodied.
The skin on his knuckles were just as bloody, peeled raw and throbbing. It should concern him that he doesn’t even register any pain when he tries to flex his knuckles afterwards, but none of it mattered to him at the moment.
All Tyler could focus on was the sudden rush of adrenaline pumping through his veins at his obvious victory, and the hot humid air against his skin.
But amidst the sound of all the other kids cheering and shouting his name in triumph, Tyler only saw the distressed look on Taylor’s face as she came rushing over to check his wounds.
She had been looking for him everywhere, it seemed.
He hadn't meant to leave her alone, but when the older kids kept staring at her and wouldn’t stop no matter how much he kept glaring at them, he knew he had to do his job.
It would take too much time trying to explain all of that to his twin, nor did he want to, so he takes her hand instead and starts dragging her home, making sure she sees as little of the aftermath as possible.
When she asks him what happened once they got back, he isn’t really sure what to tell her himself. Before he could head to his own room and avoid any more of his sister’s questioning gaze, Taylor grabs his arm this time and drags him to the bathroom where they keep the first-aid kit.
“Why?” Taylor asks him after a moment of silence, soft fingers grazing fresh wounds as she tended to his injuries as best as she could. The same way their mom used to do when he’d get hurt from baseball practice.
He already knows what she’s asking him without needing to say anything else, though he isn’t particularly thrilled to answer her.
“Dunno.” He lies easily. “Guess I was just lucky.” He adds with a snort, but Taylor wasn’t laughing at his joke.
She wasn’t buying his lie either.
“Ty—”
“I’m fine.” He cuts her off before she can coax him into an actual answer with a flippant wave of his other hand. “I won their stupid fight, and they’ll probably be too fucking sore to try that again.”
Taylor doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she at least stopped asking him any follow-up questions.
The silence between them is weighted as his twin continues to bandage his arm without meeting his gaze, and he knows he’ll need to do some damage control before she actually starts ignoring him altogether.
Taylor doesn’t get mad at him often, not fully or as intensely as most, but in the rare moments when he ends up truly pissing her off, she can be pretty difficult to placate.
Already tired from his earlier fight and wanting nothing more than to make amends with his sulking twin, he lets out a sigh before nudging her with his elbow to get her attention.
Taylor meets his eyes and he gives her a tired smile.
“Listen Tay, your brother’s tough.” He assures her with as much conviction as he could, grasping her hand in a firm grip that means so much more than he lets on. “And it’s my job to make sure you and mom are safe.”
It’s what dad would have done. He thinks.
It’s what dad failed to do. He corrects himself right after.
There’s a pained look on her face that he so desperately wants to wipe away, but he doesn’t know how to. Not yet.
He sees Taylor opening her mouth to say something, but she manages to stop herself before finally nodding her head in understanding.
That night, Tyler wonders what could have changed her mind.
He hopes she hasn’t seen through him yet—hasn’t seen through the bite of violence inside of him that’s threatening to split him open ever since they buried their dad six feet into the ground.
On nights where sleep feels nearly impossible, he thinks about the fact that there’s an anger sitting heavy in his chest that’s his to bear alone, and how he’s been carrying it for as long as he could remember.
He wonders if it’ll ever get lighter. Some nights he wonders if he even wants it to.
Days pass and he’s still getting into fights.
More kids, even older and tougher than the previous, keep showing up every time news breaks out that he remains undefeated.
Apparently, he’s made a name for himself at the park, and some of the other kids have started following him around him with awe and wonder reflected into their eyes.
He wants to laugh at the stupidity of it all, but he’s too busy fighting to really say anything.
It wasn’t like he was doing this to get attention, and it sure as hell wasn’t for anyone’s fucking entertainment.
The fight ends with the last kid dragging his friends out of the park in a limp.
There’s static ringing in his ears and he pushes himself out of the slowly dissolving crowd, his body aching as he makes his way home feeling victorious.
But Taylor takes one good look at him and flinches.
Something inside of him breaks at her reaction and obvious distress, but he convinces himself that the bruises on his skin and the taste of blood on his mouth wasn’t that big of a deal.
And besides, it wasn’t like he could let those assholes get away after all the godawful things they were spewing about his family. If they wanted their asses beaten so badly, then he was going to give them exactly what they asked for.
Satisfied with his resolve, he gets dinner started and pretends not to notice Taylor’s searching gaze the entire time they were eating.
The two other seats opposite of theirs remain empty, and he also pretends that it doesn't bother him.
He knows she’s upset with him when she refuses to answer any of his attempts at conversation, and he’s not entirely blameless this time around, not when he’s been keeping his distance and coming home later than usual.
A part of him wants to sooth her worries, wants to reach out and make her understand that what he’s doing is for her. For them.
But he stops himself, letting the explanation hang in his throat before swallowing it up entirely.
This is a burden only he should be carrying, and Taylor doesn't need to know any of the pain or hurt he’s been enduring, not when it’s his job to shoulder it for the both of them.
The anger and suffering in their family is meant for him to take, and he’ll gorge himself on blood if it meant saving them from anything else the world decided to throw at them.
No matter if he ends up burning himself out in the process. It was all part of his job, of his promise.
He still lets her bandage his arm when after dinner, lets her take care of him in a way he knows will ease some of her worries. He distracts her with stories of baseball training and thoughts of getting his ears pierced the entire time, content to see her smiling a bit by the end.
Classes are surprisingly mundane, a lull of peace in between the ever present clusterfuck of problems showing up in his life.
He’s sitting at the very back, hands too bruised to really bother taking down notes as he half listens to their teacher drone about a topic he doesn’t really care all that much about.
All the windows are open and a hot breeze makes its way inside, ruffling his fringes as he tries to keep his focus.
At some point, his gaze turns away from the chalkboard and he begins to watch the sky outside the window.
He thinks about holding his hand up to the sun, he pretends that the sun is closer than it really is—that if he reached out, with his fingers spreading wide, the tips would be close enough to graze its edge.
Would the fire burn him?
He wonders if it’d hurt at all.
Tyler doesn’t get to mull it over for long, not when he gets cornered into another fight after school.
It was the same middle schooler he’d beaten up a few days ago. A couple of the older boy’s friends were with them to probably keep him from walking out.
Thankfully, he’d already sensed something like this would happen and managed to tell Taylor to head home without him under the guise of buying groceries.
He tries to ignore their provocation as much as he could, reminding himself that every time he showed up covered in even more bruises, the more he could feel Taylor slipping away from his grasp.
He could ignore all the insults thrown at his face, but the moment his family was mentioned, the piece of shit didn’t get to say anything else after that, because in the space of three seconds, while he was still mid-word, Tyler had him on the ground.
The unforgiving concrete outside of the school ground soaked up the thud that would have otherwise resounded in the otherwise empty space between him and his assailants. There’s a buzzing sound in his ear that won’t go away, increasing in intensity the more his anger grows like flames lapping against his skin.
His entire body is strung tight, ready to explode.
Faintly, he could hear the asshole’s shitty friends cursing in surprise, but he paid them no mind.
Anger surges inside of him like molten lava, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.
The fight ends when all five upperclassmen are on the ground, but he isn’t finished with them yet.
Slowly, menacingly, he grabs hold of the perpetrator and drags him close until his face is close enough to see the rage reflecting in Tyler’s eyes.
“Don’t ever talk about my sister or my mom ever again.” He warns, so quiet and cold that he barely registers that the sound is coming out of his own mouth. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t care how tough you think you are. None of that matters to me.”
“Because all I care about here is them.” Goes unsaid.
“You ever try saying anything about them again, and I won’t stop even if you already stopped moving. Am I clear?” He says with a harsh shake until he feels the older boy’s shaky nod before finally letting go.
He steps away and turns to glare at the rest of the guy’s friends, making sure to look each of them in the eyes when he adds with as much venom in his voice, “That goes for the rest of you.”
He doesn’t stay long, remembering to stop by the market for groceries like he’d promised Taylor.
Once the carton of eggs and bottle of milk was safely in his arms, Tyler makes his way home with a split lip and both his knuckles scarred and bruised. It was a miracle no one stopped to ask him about the state he was in.
He knows Taylor will be waiting for him at home, worry evident on her face as she frets over his injuries once more.
He’d end up upsetting her once again when she sees the extent of his injury, but for now, he simply lets himself bask in the orange glow of the setting sun. The sight of watercolor skies comforting him, even for a little bit.
He doesn’t regret what he did—will never regret protecting those he cared about—no matter what happens to him in the process.
Taylor may not like it, but he’ll just have to make it up to her as much as he can.
He hopes she can understand his actions, hopes that she won’t hate him too much for it.
A part of him already knows that she won’t, and he lets the relief of having such a forgiving sister settle deep within his chest until the world around him is quiet at last.
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