Absolute Being: I Am Nothing Chapter 38

Earth

Past Life

"Haddy, what did your mother do this time."

Adam’s voice was calm, but it was the calm he used when he was already angry. He stood in front of her, hands in his pockets, watching her too closely.

"Nothing," Haddy said. "I just wanted quiet."

She tried to smile. It didn’t work. Tears slid down her face anyway.

Adam stepped closer. "That doesn’t look like nothing. Either your mother did something, your stepfather crossed a line, or that idiot boyfriend of yours opened his mouth again. Which one is it."

Haddy shook her head quickly. "Stop. Don’t start."

"Tell me," Adam said. His voice hardened. "I’m not letting this slide."

She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "And what are you going to do if I tell you. Beat someone up again. Get arrested again. Make your dad clean up another mess because of me."

Adam frowned. "That wasn’t because of you."

"Yes it was," she snapped. "You beat up the police chief’s son because he called me trash. Your father paid the fine. He bailed you out. He threatened to disown you if you didn’t change."

She laughed weakly. "I still remember it. You standing there pretending you didn’t care."

Adam looked away for a second. "I didn’t pretend."

"I can’t have that," Haddy continued. "I won’t be the reason your family breaks apart."

Adam exhaled slowly. "You’re not breaking anything."

"You don’t get to decide that," she said quietly.

They stood there in silence.

Adam and Haddy had known each other almost their whole lives. He was older by a few years, but he never treated her like a kid. Never talked down to her. Never pushed her aside. To him, she was family.

Their families were close in a way that confused other people. Different religions. Different ways of life. But that never mattered. They ate together. Argued together. Celebrated together.

Haddy’s father and Adam’s father were inseparable. They joked that they were brothers who just prayed differently.

Adam, Alex, and Haddy grew up together. Three kids running around like the world was simple. Like it couldn’t hurt them.

Haddy used to laugh a lot.

Adam remembered that laugh more than anything.

She laughed with her whole body. Head thrown back. Eyes shut. No restraint. No fear.

That laugh disappeared the day her father died.

Adam remembered the call. The way her sister covered her mouth. The way his father went silent.

Haddy didn’t cry at first. She just sat there. Quiet. Staring at nothing.

Her mother changed after that.

At first, it was small things. Words that cut deeper than they should. Rules that didn’t make sense. Blame placed where it didn’t belong.

Then it got worse.

The woman who used to smile with them started seeing Haddy as a reminder of loss. Of failure. Of a life she didn’t want anymore.

Haddy became the target.

Adam saw it before anyone else did.

Bruises hidden under sleeves. A forced smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Silence where there used to be jokes.

"You don’t have to protect me from myself," Adam said quietly.

Haddy looked at him. "That’s exactly what I’m doing."

"You’re protecting everyone except you."

She looked down. "Someone has to pay."

"That’s not how it works."

"That’s how it always works," she replied. "Someone always pays."

Adam clenched his jaw. "You think I regret any of it."

"Yes," she said immediately. "Because you always do."

He didn’t deny it.

"You think I don’t see it," she continued. "You act tough, you joke, you fight, but you always feel it later. Every time."

Adam stepped closer. "If someone hurts you—"

"They already did," Haddy said softly. "A long time ago."

He froze.

"You can’t fix this," she said. "Not with fists. Not with anger."

"I can get you out," Adam said. "Stay with us. My father won’t say no."

Her eyes widened. "No."

"Haddy—"

"No," she repeated. "That would break her. And I don’t care what she did to me, I won’t be the reason she collapses."

Adam laughed bitterly. "So you’ll just let her crush you instead."

She shrugged. "I’m used to it."

That answer hurt more than any insult.

Adam remembered the first time he realized something was truly wrong.

He found her sitting alone one evening. She was staring at nothing. Not crying. Not thinking. Just empty.

He asked her what she was thinking about.

She said, "Nothing."

That scared him.

"Haddy," he said now, "you don’t have to be strong all the time."

She looked at him. "Someone has to be."

"You’re not alone," he said.

She smiled again. Smaller this time. "You say that like it’s permanent."

He didn’t like that.

Alex appeared not long after, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

"She okay," Alex asked.

"She will be," Haddy said quickly. "Right."

Alex didn’t believe her. Neither did Adam.

"You still skipping meals," Alex asked her.

She blinked. "What."

"Thought so," Alex muttered.

Adam shot him a look.

"What," Alex said. "You think I don’t notice."

Haddy tried to joke. "You guys are worse than parents."

Adam smiled faintly. "That’s because we care."

She looked at both of them for a long moment. "That’s what scares me."

"Why," Adam asked.

"Because caring has consequences."

Adam didn’t answer.

Days passed. Weeks.

Haddy got quieter.

Adam got angrier.

Alex watched both of them, saying less, thinking more.

The night everything broke was quiet.

Too quiet.

Adam remembered the way his phone buzzed. Over and over. Missed calls. A sinking feeling in his chest.

They found her too late.

The world didn’t end that day.

But something inside Adam did.

He never forgot the sound of Alex saying her name.

Never forgot the look on his father’s face.

Never forgot the way the sky looked exactly the same.

People said things after.

"She was strong."

"She didn’t show signs."

"God works in mysterious ways."

Adam hated those words.

Haddy was cheerful. Kind. Gentle.

And broken by people who were supposed to protect her.

Years later, standing as something far beyond human, Adam still remembered her face.

Still remembered her laugh.

Still remembered the silence.

And when Kahdijah stood in front of him again, wearing that same smile, that same chaos, that same light hiding something darker underneath—

It wasn’t just power he saw.

It was memory.

It was loss.

It was rage that never cooled.

That was why he walked away.

Not because he didn’t care.

But because he cared too much.

And some wounds, no matter how powerful you become, never truly heal.