Lique

He did some things he wasn’t proud of, back when he was young and foolhardy, believing himself to be invincible and at the top of the world. How many times had he done something on account of trying to be cool or just as popular as the others? How many times did he cross the line just to impress someone else?

It was hard to know when he went too far when the line kept getting thinner and thinner, when he felt urged to do more and be more. And then one day, Lique crossed the line one too many times.

He could have blamed it on the people he surrounded himself with, could have blamed it all on societal pressures and expectations. An accident, pure and simple, borne from stupidity and recklessness.

In the end, Lique only had himself to blame.

After that day, as Lique was left standing above a cooling body, eyes wide and realizing how out of his depth he was, he stopped. He cut his ties, rethought his life, and changed.

His actions were careful now, a weight behind his words.

He never spoke of his past. The others thought it was too painful, too many lost loved ones and dying hopes. And while it was true that he was older and had lost more than they, he had also gained more. He lived and loved, enjoyed the simple things and the extraordinary. He’d done and experienced so many wonderful things.

No, the simple reason that he never spoke of it was shame.

It was shame that kept him getting up in the early mornings, staring at the sunlight filtering through the window, and feeling as if a weight settled in the pit of his stomach. It was shame that held him back, cautious and wary, even as they looked at him, frowning.

“You should be over it already,” said some friends from that fateful day so long ago. “It’s been how many years now?”

But trauma never had to make sense. It wormed its way into every waking moment, a snatch here and there that reminded him so suddenly like a gunshot in the night. All he could do was put his best foot forward and hope beyond hope that one day he was able to atone for what he did.