Hazy (wlw)

Each step feels heavier as I mentally prepare for what's waiting on the other side of the door.

Anna dropped me off, but she's still parked at the curb. She's one of those people that waits until you're inside before driving away. It's thoughtful, but right now it's just one more layer of pressure. I hesitate, hovering my hand just above the doorknob, debating whether I should walk in or just... turn around and go back with her.

I finally rest my hand on the knob, but before I can push it open, I hear them—my parents—arguing at full volume. Probably coming from the kitchen or the living. Honestly, it doesn't matter where they are. What matters is I don't want to deal with it.

I take a deep breath, brace myself, and step inside.

The door creaks as I push it open, and for a split second, I hope they're too caught up in their yelling to notice me.

It's hilarious that I thought that.

The argument comes to a complete stop as their eyes snap toward me at the bottom of the stairs.

"And where the hell have you been?" my mom demands the second I step inside.

"With Violet," I say, keeping my voice as flat as possible, hoping it'll be enough.

Her eyes narrow. "I talked to Samantha this morning."

Fuck.

I force a tight-lipped smile. "Oh yeah? How's she been?" I ask, feigning innocence, even though I know it's pointless.

Her expression darkens. "Do you think I'm stupid?" She slams her hand down on the counter, the sharp sound slicing through the air.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second before exhaling. "No," I mumble, dragging my hands down my face. "I was with a friend. Her name's Anna."

She scoffs. "I never believe a goddamn word that comes out of your mouth." Her hands land on her hips, her stance rigid. "This isn't a fucking hotel. You don't just come and go as you please."

I stay silent. There's nothing I can say that won't make this worse.

"Hello?" she snaps. "Am I talking to myself?"

What does she even expect me to say? She didn't ask a question.

"You wanna see what happens if you ignore your mother again?" My dad's voice cuts in, cold and sharp.

A different kind of fear settles in my stomach. My mom is loud, relentless—but my dad? My dad is another story entirely.

My shoulders hunch on instinct as I drop my gaze. "No," I force out through clenched teeth. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

My mom exhales sharply, like she's barely satisfied. "Next time you pull this shit, you're out. Got it?"

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Got it."

I immediately headed upstairs. Even if I had the energy to argue, it wouldn't matter. They're clearly on something.

I hover over my bed for a while, finally letting myself break. Everything I've been holding in hits me all at once.

It hurts.

The lump in my throat turned into a sharp, stabbing pain, and the headache that formed as soon as my mom started talking to me was getting progressively worse. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to make it stop, but the tears come out anyway.

They're so good at twisting things, making me feel like the villain for not letting them know where I was. Maybe I'd understand if they cared enough to check in on me in the first place. Why do I have to carry all the weight of being a "good daughter" when they can't make an effort to be decent parents?

They don't show up for me. They don't ask how I'm doing. Not once did they come to a swim meet or pretend to care. I mean, I didn't even understand what "I love you" really meant until Oliver said it. My mom's too caught up in her alcohol addiction and my dad... I don't know what the hell he's on anymore.

I used to try—used to beg for their attention—but it never got me anything. Nothing. No acknowledgment, no warmth. If anything, it only made them angrier.

And yet, no matter how drained I feel or how much I want to escape, I know it could be worse. There are people like Violet, whose dad isn't in the picture. Some people are in real danger every single day. It's a war in my mind that I fight all the time.

So I remind myself—again—that it could be worse.

I keep counting down the days until graduation. Just a few more months, and I can finally get out of here. Never look back.

Still... a part of me stupidly hopes they'll show up. I know it's unlikely, but the thought sticks in my mind. No matter how mad I am, no matter how much they've hurt me, I want them there.

Even if they showed up drunk or high, I'd be happy they came at all.

After an hour of crying, I realize—I don't have to sit here and take this.

Going to Anna's party was the best decision I've made in a long time. For the first time in forever, I felt like I could just be—somewhere that wasn't suffocating, somewhere that wasn't home. So, I pack a bag. Nothing crazy—I'm not running away or anything. Just my notebook, colored pencils, and a blanket.

I slip out through my window, the way I always do. My parents are still at it, they picked up right where they left off before I unfortunately interrupted. At first, I tried drowning them out with music, but then my dad started throwing things. I don't know what exactly, dishes maybe? Either way that was my cue.

I've had an escape route for over a year now. Back when Oliver and I started dating, I started leaving the downstairs bathroom window unlocked so I could sneak back in. The hardest part was actually jumping out of my window. It took an entire Saturday of Violet and Oliver hyping me up before I finally did it. Now? It's a piece of cake.

I wish I didn't care so much about what people think—or not people. Just Anna apparently. If I hadn't, I could've avoided all of this by simply sneaking through the window when she dropped me off earlier.

As my feet hit the grass, the weight in my chest started to loosen. I can hear my parents' faint voices in the background, but it's easier to ignore. Out here, the air is crisp, carrying the scent of the ocean, and the sound of crickets chirping somewhere in the distance. It's calming.

I follow the same path Violet and I walked when she showed up about Danny. Our town is small, tucked away in Rhode Island. The smell of salt lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of bonfires burning somewhere along the beach. If I were raising kids, this is exactly the kind of place I'd want them to grow up. It's steady and predictable.

By the time I reach the shore, the tension in my body's fully faded. The waves roll in gently and the rhythmic crash against the sand fills the silence.

I lay my blanket down, pop in my headphones, and pull out my notebook. For the first time in a long time, I feel okay.

Word count: 1248