"It hurts," I thought, lying face-down in the dirt.
The ground was dry. It stuck to my skin, clinging to the blood and sweat like it wanted to bury me too.
My arms trembled as I pushed myself up.
My ribs screamed. My head pulsed. But I moved anyway.
I sat up slowly, dust falling from my shirt in lazy flakes. My hands were scraped raw. My knees were shaking.
I didn't look back at the school.
I just stood there, quiet, broken… breathing.
Then, without a word,I dusted myself offand started walking.
The sun was gone.
The streets were dim now, washed in pale orange from cracked street lamps. One buzzed weakly above the sidewalk, flickering like it couldn't decide if it wanted to die or not.
I walked in silence.
My backpack dragged against my side, torn at the bottom, one strap barely hanging on. Gravel crunched under my shoes. A car passed behind me. I didn't look. My shadow stretched long and thin in front of me, stretching toward a place I didn't want to go.
I knew what waited at the end of the road.
The houses were all the same — chipped paint, old fences, yellow grass. One porch had a couch on it. Another had no lights at all. Mine was at the corner, slumped between two lots like it didn't belong there.
The screen door swung open when I touched it. The bottom was torn, the metal frame bent where someone had kicked it. The porch light above me was dead.
I stepped inside.
The floor creaked beneath me. It always did. No carpet, just stained wood with black marks near the corners. The wallpaper peeled in long strips down the hallway. Old beer bottles lined the kitchen counter. Something was rotting in the sink.
Then I heard it.
Thud.Glass.A breath.
"Where you been, you little shit?"
His voice came from the living room — thick, slow, already slurred. My father stood in the corner chair, shirtless, one hand wrapped around a bottle, the other rubbing his jaw like he'd been thinking too hard. His eyes were bloodshot. His lips twitched like he wanted to say more but forgot what it was.
I didn't answer. I just stood there.
"What, you deaf now?" he growled. "You think you can stay out as late as you want? You think this is a hotel?"
He stepped forward. The bottle clinked against the coffee table as he set it down. He moved faster than I expected.
His fist caught the side of my shoulder.
I stumbled back.
Another blow to the ribs.
Then a shove. My back hit the wall.
I didn't scream. I didn't run.
This wasn't new.
"You're just like her," he spat. "Same eyes. Same little coward mouth. Always crying. Always weak."
He grabbed my collar and yanked me forward.
"Such a worthless piece of crap. Just like your mother."
Then he dropped me.
Literally dropped me — like trash he realized wasn't worth picking up in the first place.
He walked past me, into the hall. The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the shelves.
And then it was quiet.
Not peaceful quiet.Not resting quiet.Just… empty.
I stood there for a long time.
Then I walked to my room.
It smelled like dust and mold. The wallpaper was ripped here, too. The mattress on the floor had no frame, just a blanket and a pillow that had lost all its shape. The window was covered by an old sheet nailed into the wall. One nail had fallen out. The corner flapped weakly in the wind.
I dropped my bag. Sat on the edge of the mattress.
Then I lay down, staring up at the ceiling.
The cracks above me looked like they were crawling.
"Why…"
It slipped out before I could stop it.
I buried my face in the pillow.
"Why…"
My throat locked up.
"Why… why… why… why…"
The tears came all at once. Ugly, wet, choking sobs. My chest convulsed. My arms folded tight over my head, as if I could press the noise out of existence. But it didn't stop.
Not until I ran out of breath.
Not until my voice gave out.
Not until my body gave in to sleep.
And even then…Even in the dark…
I remembered.