The drums were her way of screaming without raising her voice.The rehearsal room smelled of wood, sweat, and old cables. Lía loved it.No one else used that room at that hour, and that solitude felt like hers—like she had reserved it years in advance.
Sitting in front of her drum set, she closed her eyes, took a breath… and played.The metronome kept the tempo, but her body moved on its own.Each strike echoed inside her. A memory. A rage. A word she never shouted. A moment she stayed silent out of fear. Another out of habit.
By the time she finished, the clock already read seven.She packed her drumsticks, turned off the metronome, and slung her backpack over one shoulder.She walked through the hallway, passing faint sounds from other bands practicing—singing, laughter, distant voices.Lía didn't stop.
She left the building without looking at anyone, walked toward the bus stop, and put her headphones back on.Bring Me The Horizon started playing. And the world went silent again.
Her apartment welcomed her with the same silence as always.It was small, but full of soul.Posters of bands like Slipknot, Arctic Monkeys, Nirvana, and Ghost proudly covered the walls. On a shelf rested vinyl records, a couple of worn books, and a small red drum set figurine.Everything was perfectly organized, as if the world's chaos had to stay outside.
On the couch, the true king of the home stared at her with golden eyes.
"Hey, Salem," she murmured with a half-smile, tossing her backpack to the side.The black cat jumped onto her lap the moment she collapsed onto the couch, purring loudly—like he somehow knew she didn't need words that day.
She grabbed her phone and checked her notifications. Nothing interesting. No one she wanted to talk to.Not even her old friends from high school.Since everything fell apart with Him… she had pulled away from everyone.
The thought tensed her up. She closed her eyes.Her relationship with Martín—the last one—was what finally broke her.He seemed perfect: sweet, caring, funny. Until he wasn't.Until he started making her feel guilty for everything. Comparing her. Controlling who she spoke to. Manipulating her with words dressed up as love."I just want what's best for you. Don't you see? You're nothing without me."
She had gotten out on her own. No drama. No shouting.One day, she just decided she'd never feel small again.And since then, she built walls.Brick walls.Lined with spikes.
—
A soft meow pulled her out of the spiral.
"I'm okay," she whispered, stroking Salem between the ears. "I'm not there anymore."She stood, stretched her arms, and looked at the drum set in the corner of the living room.She wasn't going to play now. No.But just seeing it there… reminded her she still had a voice.