A love forbidden

The air smelled like burnt wood and whiskey.

Jake Evans sat on the worn-out couch, staring at the cracked ceiling of their tiny house. The hum of the broken ceiling fan did little to drown out the sound of his father stumbling around the kitchen, searching for another bottle. It was always the same routine-Mark Evans would come home late, half-drunk, and finish the night completely wasted.

Jake had stopped caring.

A year ago, he might have been worried. He might have stayed up late, waiting for his dad to come home safely. But now? He just wanted the night to end.

"Where the hell is it?" his father muttered, slamming cupboard doors.

Jake didn't answer. He already knew what his father was looking for. The last bottle of whiskey had been emptied two nights ago, but he didn't have the heart to tell him.

The house was quiet except for his father's cursing.

Emily and Olivia were asleep upstairs-at least, he hoped they were. Olivia had learned to block out the noise with music, but Emily was still too young to understand why their father was always angry.

Jake ran a hand through his messy brown hair and exhaled. He hated nights like this.

Then, just as he was about to get up and check on his sisters, his father appeared in the doorway, his bloodshot eyes locking onto him.

"You took it, didn't you?" Mark slurred, staggering forward.

Jake clenched his jaw. "Took what?"

"My damn drink," his father growled. "You think I don't know what you're doing? Hiding shit from me like your mother used to?"

The mention of his mother made something sharp twist in Jake's chest.

She was gone. Left them a year ago, walked right out the door without so much as a goodbye. No warning, no explanation-just an empty closet and a note that simply said: I can't do this anymore.

Jake had hated her for that.

But he hated his father more for what happened after.

"You're drunk," Jake muttered, standing up. "Go to bed."

His father let out a bitter laugh. "You don't tell me what to do, boy."

Jake had heard it all before. He didn't even flinch as his father stepped closer, the stench of alcohol thick between them.

"She ruined everything," Mark whispered, his voice breaking for the first time. "Your mother... she was supposed to love us."

Jake didn't respond. He just watched as his father's anger faded into something hollow-something broken.

And for the first time in months, Jake saw it.

His father wasn't just drunk. He was lost.

A man drowning in his own pain, searching for something-anything-to numb it.

But Jake didn't have the energy to care.

He had his own pain to deal with.

And no one to help him through it.

Jake sat back down on the couch, his fists clenched. He could feel his father's eyes burning into him, but he refused to look up. He had learned a long time ago that meeting his father's gaze only made things worse.

"You think you're better than me?" Mark muttered, his voice thick with resentment.

Jake didn't answer. There was no point.

His father scoffed. "You walk around this house like you run things. Like you're the man now. But let me tell you something, boy-you're just a kid."

Jake's jaw tightened. He wanted to say something, to throw his father's words right back at him, but what was the use? Nothing he said would change the fact that Mark Evans had given up a long time ago.

The sound of glass shattering made Jake flinch. His father had thrown an empty bottle against the wall, the shards scattering across the floor.

"Clean that up," Mark ordered, already turning away. "And don't touch my shit again."

Jake watched as his father stumbled toward his bedroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

Silence.

Jake let out a slow breath and ran a hand down his face. He was tired-tired of the drinking, the fighting, the endless nights of pretending everything was fine when it wasn't.