Page 36 of Psycho Boys

NOSTALGIA

JUST LIKE YOU: THREE DAYS GRACE

DOMINIC

The rhythmic whisper of the wipers against the windshield is a relentless counterpoint to my attempt at sleep. Leaning back in the passenger seat, I watch Calista drive, our car trailing Five and the others. My gaze keeps returning to her—to the intense concentration in her eyes as she navigates the rain-slicked road. Occasionally, her hand finds mine, a fierce grip that speaks of unspoken anxieties, a silent reassurance for herself, and perhaps for me.

I know the basement ordeal had profoundly affected her, but the details remain locked within her. Calista isn't one to share such things, and I accept that. What matters is that she's here, with us, where she belongs, even as we race against time, desperate for a safe haven.

Five's brake lights, a bright crimson glow, pull me from my daze. I tear my gaze from Calista and focus on the road ahead. A smile touches my lips as recognition dawns; our severely missed apartment building looms on my right.

Fuck, how I missed my bed, the worn comfort of our couch, even for the coffee table perpetually dusted with the remnants of drugs from our many late nights. I even miss the throbbing headaches induced by the glow of the neon signs, the lights flickering throughout our apartment. Home. It's where I want to be. I prefer confronting this chaos in familiar surroundings over the isolating despair of the cabin.

As we inch forward in the backed-up traffic, Calista and I scan the streets, searching for any sign of someone watching us as we approach our destination: the familiar parking garage.

"God," Calista breathes, her voice breaking the heavy silence that had cloaked our journey. "It looks so different being back here. It feels… surreal."

"I know," I agree, letting out a weary sigh. "Maybe we can stay the night, at least."

Hope blooms in my chest, only to be quickly countered by a wave of nostalgia as we pull into the parking garage. Killian and Ash's cars are parked in their usual spots. Mine—a mangled wreck—is gone, replaced by our bikes, which I have no memory of parking there.

As Five parks the Mustang, Calista pulls the Charger alongside, both engines cutting out simultaneously. Neither of them moves. I notice Calista gripping the steering wheel, her nerves tightening as frightening flashbacks begin to torment her beautiful, troubled mind. Her eyes glaze over, a lost look replacing her usual intensity as the past threatens to engulf her.

I squeeze her hand, offering silent support, but she refuses to meet my gaze, whispering under her breath. "I don't care, Addy. We needed this. We needed to come back."

Recognizing the name, I know she's speaking to the imaginary girl only she can see and hear. I let her have her moment, never releasing her hand. She speaks back and forthwith the unseen girl, and when the fog finally lifts, she looks at me, smiles, and leans across the console.

"I'm glad to be back. Fuck running. Fuck hiding. If they're coming for us, let them. We'll be ready." She leans in and kisses me, her hand trailing up my thigh.

A sharp knock on my window breaks the moment. I glare at Ash, who grins from ear to ear, a playful gleam in his bloodshot eyes. I roll down the window, and he leans in, his arms resting on the ledge.

"Lovebirds, are you ready for a stroll?" he asks, nodding towards my cast, barely suppressing a laugh.

"Yeah, but Dom should wait in the apartment. He can tell us if anyone's been there," Calista suggests, and for once, I don't disagree.

I nod, opening my door with a little too much force, slamming it into Ash, who yelps as he instinctively cups his balls to protect himself.

"Serves you fucking right, you dick," I mutter, climbing out as Calista, Five, and Killian follow suit.

The cool night air is a stark contrast to the stuffy car. My leg protests with a dull ache, the cast a constant reminder of the crash that had taken Calista from me and ignited a new war.

Ash, still clutching his groin, glares at me, his playful demeanor replaced by a wince. Killian, ever the silent observer, simply watches, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Five, however, is already heading towards the apartment building, his long strides eating up the distance. Calista, her hand still warm in mine, squeezes it reassuringly before releasing it to follow Five.

"Let's get this over with," she says, her voice low and determined.

The surreal feeling has vanished, replaced by steely resolve. We move as one as we approach our apartment, a silent, coordinated team. The familiar layout of the building, the creakof the stairs, the faint smell of stale cigarettes and cheap coffee—it all feels strangely comforting, a grounding presence amidst the chaos.

As we reach our door, a nervous energy crackles between us. Five produces a small, almost invisible device from his pocket—a sophisticated lockpick—even though we all have our keys. Within seconds, the door clicks open, revealing the all-too-familiar interior of our apartment.

It's exactly as we'd left it, a testament to our hasty escape. Empty takeout containers and liquor bottles litter the floor, a half-finished game of cards still sits abandoned on the table amidst drug paraphernalia, and the lingering scent of our lives hangs heavy in the air. A prickle of unease runs down my spine. Something feels... wrong... off.

"Hello?" Calista calls out, her voice echoing in the quiet apartment. Silence.

Then, a faint scratching sound from the bedroom that we know is the sound of tree branches hitting the window from the whipping wind outside. We exchange glances, a silent understanding passing between us. This isn't just a check-in; it's a trap. The question isn't *if* they're watching, but *how long* they've been watching. And what the fuck they're waiting for.

After the initial shock and paranoia subside, the five of us settle in, finding a measure of comfort in the place we'd all missed. Yet, even though I'd longed to return, it doesn't feel the same. It isn't the safe haven it once was, not truly safe—not after our fathers had tainted it with their predatory actions and relentless abuse. A shiver runs down my spine as I think of it, pulling out my pipe from under the couch cushion, the weed still packed in the bowl.

"So, what's the plan now that we're here?" Five asks, still nervously looking around and fidgeting with his fingers.

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