In the semi-obscurity of the living room, 12 years old Street is curled up in a corner. He is breathing heavily, he has his hands on his ears because his parents are yelling at each other, and that scares him.
He should be used to it, but still, he's terrified.
The boy is shaking, witnessing from behind the couch his father hitting his mother. He feels every scream under his skin; he feels every hit in his bones. He winces when his mother falls to the ground; he cries, hearing her whining.
The poor kid wants to help, but the fear paralyzes him.
And then the silence. A dreadful and threatening silence insinuating in young Street's heart. He closes his eyes, knowing his turn is next to come. He buries his head into his knees, his arms hugging himself tightly.
Holding his breath, the shaking boy winces at every little creaking of the old floor, while his father's heavy footsteps inexorably get the men closer to him.
"Look at me, son," Street's father orders him, his deep voice making the boy's heart jump.
Young Street keeps crying silently; he keeps shaking hardly, not able to obey to the man.
"Look at me!" Street's father repeats again, taking his son's arm.
Feeling that rude contact, the boy finally looks up, and horror fills his eyes for what he finds before him. That man is not his father; that man is the adult version of himself.
Young Street gasps, he could see the hate in the man's look. He mirrors in his own eyes, and what he sees is terrifying.
His adult version lifts his hand to hit the child; the poor boy sees it coming, the hand approaches rapidly to him...
"NO!" Street yelled, jumping in his bed.
His chest constricted and fatiguing to catch his breath, Street's conscious self slowly took control of him, and he found himself sitting on the mattress with the covers messed up on the bed.
An unreal silence filled the room; no more yelling, no more squeaking, just his heavy breathing echoing in the air. With cold sweat descending on his temples, Street looked around. Through the darkness of the nighttime he could discern he was in his room, at Luca's home.
As reassuring as it was to wake up in that bed, it felt weird to Street, since he spent the last few days in his old apartment, hoping his mother would show up.
Actually, now that his mother was back in jail, he was thinking of going back to live there alone, but fortunately, that night he decided to sleep at Luca's. The mare fact that his friend was sleeping in the next room made the rude awakening he just had a little more easy to bear. The fact that he was not alone, made the nightmare a little less real.
Suddenly, a knock on the door made Street wince, and his heart jumped up in his throat.
"Street, you okay in there?" Luca's voice came through the wood.
With his left hand holding his abdomen, Street passed his right one in his hair, trying to calm down enough for his voice to come out straight. As it didn't happen, he took his face in both his shaking hands, fearing to close his eyes and see again the monster he could become, and tried to focus on steadying his breath.
"Street?" Luca insisted, "I heard you screaming; what's happening there, man?"
Even though the room was immersed in the darkness, Street could discern his door knob softly moving, like if Luca put his hand on it.
"May I come in?" The older cop continued, making the door knob rotate.
"I'm good!" Street hurried back as soon as he was able to emit other sounds then simple windings.
Actually, he was far from good. Street was sweating, the nightmare was still vivid in his mind, and all the events of the day before were still weighing on his heart.
The young cop finally managed to take a deep breath, and his hands caressed his legs through the sheet as to transmit them the strength to get up. He tried to focus on the soft and warm sensation the fabric gave him to stop his body from shivering; he clenched the sheet in his fists as tight as he could to take back control of his hands.
"Are you sure?" Luca interrupted the heavy silence again, but this time the door knob didn't move.
Street's heart was still pounding, but he didn't want his friend to see him like that, so he tried to put himself together and got up from the bed.
He reluctantly put his hand on the knob, an unconscious fear of who he could find behind that door hitting him. Sweat drops formed again on his forehead, his knees became weak.
"I'm fine, I-" Street finally found the courage to open the wooden door, and the light of the corridor hurt his eyes, making him look down for a moment.
"I'm sorry I woke you; I just had a bad dream." Despite he already got accustomed to the new light situation, Street could barely watch his friend in the eyes. "A bad dream, that's all; you can go back to sleep now." He had to close his hands into fists to not let Luca see them shaking. "I'm sorry."
Street could hardly bear the look the older cop gave him in return, and his heart couldn't slow down.
"Wanna talk about that?" Luca said, making a step back to let Street exit his room, but his encouraging tone was not enough to pass through the shall his friend was hiding behind.
"Yeah... not really, no," Street passed by Luca, hoping he would not notice how much he was struggling. As much as his friend's presence reassured him, the look Street felt on him made him feel uncomfortable.
The cold sensation coming from the kitchen floor while his bare foot stepped on it, made a sudden shiver come up to Street's spine, making all his muscle contract for an instant.
"Hey, you're pale, you sure everything's alright?" Luca's tone let through that the concern was growing in him.
Going to the fridge, Street sensed his friend was following him all the way through, and never left him alone. That was exactly why Street chose to sleep there that night; he knew that after the day he had, he could not be alone. So why could he not open up to his friend now?
"I'm fine."Street tried to ignore Luca's gaze at him while taking out something to refresh his throat and calm his nerves.
It took a lifetime for him to choose which water bottle to take off, despite a beer or something stronger was a great temptation, and in the process he got lost in thought.
Glitching before his eyes, Street had the image of his mother giggling on the dirty floor of that guy's apartment, abruptly replaced by the image of her getting hit by his dad and collapsing on their old house's floor.
In his ears Street had the yells and the cries, and again and again, his mom's voice calling him in father's name.
Suddenly appearing before him, it was the hateful look he had on himself in the nightmare he just had. And now, he saw the look of guilt that he kept seeing in the mirror since he turned his mother in. Again.
When he finally made his choice and closed the fridge door, Street found Luca there, right behind it, and the unexpected sight made him almost drop the water bottle.
"Oh, Gosh, Luca! You'll give me a heart attack!" Street said, taking his free hand to his heart.
"Sorry, man. I just wanna know what's happening with you." Luca's gaze kept trying to penetrate Street's shell.
"I'm fine; you don't have to worry for me." Street passed him, his chest slightly touching his friend's in that tight space, their eyes locking in an instantaneous connection.
"You're a terrible liar, Street," Luca insisted. "You just woke up screaming in the middle of the night!"
Street exhaled loudly, sinking into the couch. His muscles relaxed at the soft touch, but his mind could not do the same. Why couldn't he share his pain with his friend? What was he so afraid of?
"Come on, you can talk to me; is that about your mother?" Luca kept carefully watching him, settling on a stool near the kitchen table.
Street had not told the whole story to his teammates. They only knew he found his mom, and that he had to turn her in. He couldn't tell them the condition he found her in, it was too painful to share.
"Did you always want to be like your old man?" the young cop finally broke the silence.
A surprised look appeared on Luca's face. "Yeah, I guess so. I always looked up to my pops and my grandpa. Where does this come from?"
"Nothing, I, um..." Street looked up, his head abandoned on the couch's back, sighing.
Luca kept staring at him, supportive and silent, his patient look saying, take your time, I'm right here.
"When I found my mom, she," Street continued, his voice coming out a little crackly. "You know, she was" -he had to stop and drink a sip of water- "I found her so high that at some point she started calling me with my father's name."
Street read sorrow in Luca's eyes, and he knew that that empathic look was true to his heart. Even if his friend had never had to experience anything like that, just like Deacon said in his speech earlier, Luca had a unique way to connect with people.
"I never expected that she could think I was him, and this, on top of everything I had to see in that dump apartment, is driving me crazy." Street sniffed.
"Hey, you said it yourself, she was high, she didn't know what she was saying," Luca tried to reassure him. "She was probably hallucinating, it has nothing to do with you."
Street shook his head, searching for the courage to speak up again. "I tried so hard to forget him," he cleared his throat. "I don't even have a photo of him, and now I'm asking myself if I resemble him."
Luca's lips were pursed as he wanted to say something, but instead, he could only remain silent.
"You know, even if I try to focus on a single memory, I can't still see his face."
"You were just a kid when he died, it's pretty normal to forget the details." Luca's voice was meant to be supportive, but Street was too overwhelmed to appreciate that.
"Details? My father's features are no details! I-" Street stopped, trying to breathe normally.
"I remember some details," he continued in a colder tone, "details like the smell of his breath; I can still smell the cigarette smoke and the alcohol coming to my nose and preventing me to breath every time he came to me. I remember how his hands were rough and big when they laid on me, when they hit me; I can still feel his strong touch on me, his muscles toning up when he shook me-" looking up to Luca, Street had this incredibly void look on him- "But his face, no matter how hard I focus, his face is in the dark."
"That's how trauma works, Street, you should know that." Luca kept his eyes fixed on his friend, supportive and encouraging.
Street was surprised by that. He expected to see pity, or maybe even disgust. He didn't know why he did expect to see the disgust in Luca's eyes, but he felt ashamed for that sharing.
If he had to talk any other person, any other victim, out that situation, Street would surely tell them that there was nothing to be ashamed of, that that was not their fault. But as he felt those emotions under his skin, he could not help but tasting the shame.
"I keep trying to see him in my mind; I don't even know why, but I keep trying, and..." he stopped, he inhaled deeply, he exhaled loudly, "and I'm afraid of what I can see, but I need to keep trying."
Street buried his face in his hands for an endless moment, then he sniffed, and before Luca could open his mouth, he resumed talking, "I'm sorry this, this... I should not put this on you..."
"Hey, this is what friends are for, Street," Luca said, a big, warming smile printed on his face. "Talking is good."
Street looked up to the ceiling, not able to face his friend's brightening eyes. The shame and the guilt were still weighing on his heart.
"Come on, I know that's not all. Talk to me, Street." Luca insisted. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Yeah... It's just that... " Street took the courage in his hands, "This morning, the, the way my mom looked at me, the way she tried to hug me, to, to touch me, and the voice she used while she thought I was my dad... I-" he hesitated, "I saw love in all that."
Luca's expression changed, mirroring the pain in Street's voice.
"Maybe some kind of sick love, but I saw a love I didn't remember, and it felt wrong. It felt like my memories are all messed up, and yet the pain was real, the fear was real, the, the marks on our bodies were real. I know that."
"Street, she was high, your mom was the one all messed up," Luca said. "You are giving too much weight to an hallucination."
"It-it's not that, it's" -he took a deep breath- "the more I can't remember his real features, and the more I keep seeing my father's eyes in mine, and it drives me crazy that I can't discern if it's a memory of what he was, or if it's just my subconscious acting weird 'cause I feel guilty for the way I had to treat my mom."
"Hey, you did what you had to do with her, for her own safety," Luca stated, his voice warm as usual.
"I, I know, but..." Street exhaled, his lower lip trembling. "But I can't stop thinking that this is all my fault. This is the second time I sent her to jail."
"That's not true, she made her own choices." Luca got up from his stool. "You did the right thing telling the truth then, just like you did the right thing calling her parole officer now."
"But what if I'm turning just like him, like my dad?" Street tightened the empty water bottle in his hand. "What if I'm only able to hurt the people I love, what if I can only push them away and make them suffer."
Street thought about the look of betrayal his mother had on when the parole officer went to take her in, and then his mind flew to Chris, to their kiss, and to her look after that. With the pain of that look in him, his heart clenched at the thought of her coldness in the past couple of weeks.
"That's not gonna ever happen, Street." Luca approached his friend. "You are one of the most caring and thoughtful people I know. I saw the lengths you'd go for the people you love; I saw how far you can go even for people you don't know; that's what you are!"
Street let out a loud sigh, he was not used to that kind of deep sharing, and with all was going through his mind, he was overwhelmed.
"I never bothered that I could resemble him, but now, every time I look in the mirror I see him. And the worse thng is that I don't even know if it's true."
"Hey, look at me, it doesn't matter if you have his eyes, or his nose, or his ears. What matters is right here" -Luca put his hand at the center of Street's chest- "and you, Street, you have your heart in the right place, believe me."
Street shook his head, and took the hand that Luca was offering him. Relying on his friend, he got up and the two shared a heartwarming hug.
"You grew so much in this last few months, Street, I'm proud of you." Luca said, still hugging him tight.