The Unrelenting

January 1, 2017

Apparently, packing meant different things to each of us. Hagan packed every weapon that we had hidden in the old ranch house, leaving barely enough room to squeeze in a few articles of clothing. My mom, of course, didn't have clothes here, so she searched through every drawer until the few photo albums I owned were packed away. While my mom packed away our family memories, little Sebby ran into his room to pack away his favorite toys.

Sebastian didn't live here either, but he liked to spend his weekends with Hagan and I, so he claimed the spare bedroom. Everyone was packing what they thought to be important, so it was only fair that I was raiding the kitchen cabinets.

The door to the kitchen wasn't actually a door, it was just a giant space in the wall that leads directly into the living room. Which means I got a clear view of Sebastian attempting to stuff his cat, Aries, into his backpack. I'm not sure why he wanted to call the little devil Aries; but if I had to guess it probably stemmed from his unhealthy obsession with Greek mythology, which he got from my mother. Yes, my fifty-something-year-old mother was obsessed with anything remotely related to Greece. She's the reason Sebastian and I are so weird.

The name was quite fitting for the damned thing. He was as big of a nuisance as I imagine the god of war being – it was his way or the highway. If Aries wanted more food, he would get more food. If he wanted to shit on the floor, he would shit on the floor. He's a persistent little pest, but I could understand Sebastian's fascination. Being a Bengal cat, he looked similar to wild leopards – growing bigger than a normal house cat. The best thing about him was that he didn't shed, either.

Although I had a dislike for cats, particularly cats named Aries, I went ahead and grabbed the demon's food so Sebastian wouldn't be sad that his cat starved to death. Just as I was stuffing the last of the food into my bags, Hagan came to a halt right beside me.

In a completely Hagan-like fashion, he didn't have to say a word for me to know he was questioning my sanity. Probably at the fact that most the food I was stashing away was junk food.

"No Twinkie will be left behind," I shrugged at him.

"Hurry up or I'll leave you behind, Twinkie." I scowled at his retreating back, taking a second to think if he would leave me or not. He's done it before, but surely, he wouldn't leave me in this situation. Right?

Who am I kidding? Of course, he would.

And I am not a Twinkie.

I rolled my eyes when I hear the car horn honk. I had emptied out the entire pantry, so I only needed to get a few clothes from my room. The first thing I noticed in my room were all the empty photo frames– women. I threw random clothes into my bag, not caring which ones I picked out. The only thing I truly cared about taking was my father's old dog tags from when he was in the military.

My dad enlisted into the military directly out of high school; a year after he and my mom had been dating. I once asked him why he would put his life on the line for people he didn't know, and his answer was slightly humbling.

I'm not putting myself in danger for strangers. I'm doing it for you and your mother – to make sure you both have a good life.

He had been sacrificing so much for me before I was even born. He wanted to make sure I was set for life; that I'd always be provided for. While he was overseas, my mother had to step up and take care of the farm – occasionally recruiting help from myself and Hagan. They both sacrificed everything, so we could have everything. That dream shortly came to an end when my father was diagnosed with cancer. He was given an honorary discharge to live out the rest of his life "comfortably." Whatever the hell that means.