The bathroom was quiet except for the slow drip of the faucet.
Nicole sat curled on the floor, her back against the cold tile, knees hugged tightly to her chest. Her sleeves were damp, clinging to her arms. In one hand, she held a razor blade small, silver, familiar.
She stared at it, watching how the light caught the edge. Her fingers trembled.
Just one cut.
That's all it would take — a tiny sting, sharp and simple. Proof that she was still here. That she still existed.
The world outside her head had gone quiet, but inside it was chaos. The voices were back again — soft whispers, some cruel, others sad. They filled her thoughts like smoke, choking out reason.
She pressed the blade to her skin. A red line bloomed beneath it, and the ache inside eased, just a little.
She let out a slow, shaky breath.
She wasn't trying to die. Not really. She just wanted the noise to stop.
The clock on the kitchen wall blinked 12:47 p.m.
Nicole stood in the middle of the empty room, rubbing her wrist beneath the sleeve of her hoodie. The silence in the house was thick, but not peaceful. It was the kind of silence that followed yelling, like a bruise after a punch.
Somewhere upstairs, her mother and Jack were passed out. Bottles clinked when someone shifted.
She glanced at the table. No cake. No balloons. Not even a "Happy Birthday" text.
It was her fourteenth birthday.
She didn't expect much — she'd stopped doing that years ago — but still, something in her chest ached.
Nicole slipped a few crumpled bills from her mother's purse. Just enough for a piece of cake. Then she walked out the door and didn't look back.
The bakery smelled like sugar and vanilla and safety. She stood in line behind a family — a mom, a dad, a laughing little girl. Nicole looked away.
When it was her turn, she pointed to a small slice of chocolate cake in the glass case.
"Is this for here or to go, sweetie?" the woman behind the counter asked.
Nicole shrugged. "To go."
She sat in the park with the cake on her lap, watching the breeze flutter through the trees. It was warm out, but her fingers still felt cold.
Families passed her — kids running in the grass, parents laughing, couples holding hands. She watched them like they were on TV. Like they weren't real.
She picked at the frosting with her plastic fork. The sweetness made her feel sick.
I wish I had friends, she thought.
I wish someone remembered today.
The thought hadn't even finished forming when something hit her in the head.
"Ow! What the hell?"
A golden retriever bounded up to her, tail wagging.
Nicole blinked. "Hey, boy… you're cute."
A voice followed. "Oh my God — I'm so sorry! Are you okay?"
She looked up. A boy, maybe sixteen, jogged toward her. Black hair, warm brown eyes, slightly out of breath.
He looked concerned. And kind.
"I didn't mean to hit you," he said. "Sparky gets excited when he sees people sitting down. He thinks everyone wants to play."
Nicole smiled slightly. "I'm fine. Really."
"I'm Collin," he said, scratching the dog's ears.
"Nicole."
"You live around here?"
She nodded. "A few blocks away."
Collin squinted at her. "I don't think I've seen you before."
"I don't come out much," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"You should." He smiled. "It's nice out."
She looked down at her half-eaten cake.
"Is it your birthday or something?"
Nicole hesitated. "Yeah."
His eyebrows rose. "Well, happy birthday."
"Thanks."
They stood in silence for a beat. The dog barked and ran in circles around them.
"I'm here with some friends," he said, pointing toward a soccer game nearby. "You wanna join?"
Nicole shook her head. "No… but thank you. I have to get home soon."
He nodded, not pushing it. "Maybe I'll see you around."
"I'd like that."
He grinned, then turned to chase after Sparky.
Nicole watched him go, her heart beating strangely fast.
For the first time all day…
She felt like she'd been seen.
When Nicole got home that afternoon, the house was quiet — too quiet.
She pushed the door open gently, her sneakers squeaking on the warped wood floors.
The air smelled like old beer and stale perfume. She set the bakery bag down on the counter and smoved silently toward the stairs, hoping to escape back to her room unnoticed.
She had almost made it when—
"Nicole!"
Her mother's voice cracked through the silence like a whip.
Nicole froze.
"Get your little ass in here right now."
Denise was standing in the living room, her arms crossed, a cigarette smoldering between two fingers. Her mascara was smudged, and there was a half-empty wine bottle on the table. Jack slouched nearby, scrolling through his phone, uninterested.
Nicole swallowed hard and stepped inside.
"You took money from my purse?" her mother spat.
"I just needed—" Nicole started, voice barely audible.
Slap.
It wasn't hard, but it was fast — sharp enough to sting.
"You think you can steal from me now?" Denise yelled. "Who taught you that, huh? That's my damn money!"
Nicole blinked, holding her cheek. "I just… it was my birthday. I bought a piece of cake."
Denise stared at her like she'd just confessed to murder.
"A piece of cake?" she repeated, her voice rising. "You stole from me for a fucking cake?"
"I didn't think you'd remember…" Nicole's voice broke.
Her mother's eyes didn't soften. "You little brat. You want something? Earn it. Life doesn't hand you anything for free. Get out of my sight."
Nicole didn't argue. She turned and climbed the stairs, the heat of tears burning her eyes.
In her room, she sat on the floor and clutched her arms around herself. Her mother hadn't remembered her birthday — not even once. Not when she turned ten. Not last year. Never.
But this still hurt.
The next morning, the house was empty.
Nicole found a note on the counter in her mom's sharp handwriting:
"We're out. Buy eggs, milk, and cereal. Don't even think about wasting my money again."
A ten-dollar bill was taped underneath.
Nicole exhaled slowly. At least it meant she wouldn't have to deal with Jack today.
She got dressed — loose black sweatpants, a brown hoodie, and sneakers. She tied her dark hair into a messy bun, tucked the money into her pocket, and headed out.
At the corner store, she stood in line with a carton of eggs in one hand and a jug of milk in the other. She moved slowly — sleep-deprived, her thoughts still swirling.
"Nicole?"
She turned, startled.
There he was — Collin. Standing behind her with a basket of snacks and soda.
His smile was warm. "Hey… what are the odds?"
Nicole felt her stomach flip, and she smiled before she could stop herself. "Hey."
"You doing okay?" he asked. "You kinda disappeared yesterday."
She shrugged. "Yeah. Just had to get home."
"You were right, though. That cake looked pretty good."
She chuckled softly. "It was dry."
"You buying groceries?" he asked, glancing at her arms.
"For my mom."
He paused. "Can I walk you back?"
Nicole hesitated. Then, quietly: "Sure."
They walked side by side down the cracked sidewalks of Shadow Brook.
Nicole didn't talk much, but Collin didn't seem to mind the silence. He told her about his dog, how he wanted to play basketball in college, and how his mom made terrible pancakes.
Nicole listened — really listened — for the first time in a long time. His voice was comforting, like a song she didn't know she needed.
As they approached her block, Nicole suddenly stopped. Her house looked as worn-down as ever the porch sagging, the grass dead, the windows smudged with grime.
She felt ashamed. Embarrassed.
"You can leave me here," she said quickly. "Thanks for walking with me."
Collin glanced at the house, then back at her. He didn't say anything about it — not a joke, not a pitying look. Just nodded.
"Hey… happy birthday again," he said.
Nicole looked at him, surprised. "You remembered?"
"Of course," he grinned. "Next time, cake's on me. A good one."
Nicole's chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with pain. She smiled. "Deal."
She went inside and put the groceries away. She felt… different. Lighter. Happier. Someone had actually spoken to her kindly.
After making herself breakfast, she stepped out into the backyard to paint.
Nicole's backyard was a bleak patch of cracked, uneven concrete, strewn with dead leaves that rustled eerily whenever a cold wind swept through. The grass had long since withered away, leaving behind only patches of dirt and stubborn weeds clawing their way through the cracks. A rusted, broken swing set stood crooked in one corner, its chains hanging limp, creaking softly as if whispering forgotten memories.
The wooden fence that enclosed the yard was warped and splintered, leaning in places as if barely holding back the world outside. Shadows pooled beneath the overgrown bushes, thick with tangled, thorny branches that scraped against the windows when the wind blew hard.
Each stroke on the canvas helped her express the storm inside her. She didn't just paint images she painted emotions: joy, fear, sorrow, hope. She believed every feeling had a color, a rhythm, a texture waiting to be released.
She skipped lunch she wasn't hungry and spent most of the afternoon painting. As the sky darkened, her thoughts returned to Collin. His grin, his gentle voice. She wondered if maybe she could go to Hexwood High, just to see him again.
Dark clouds rolled in, threatening rain.
"Too bad," she whispered. "I was hoping to see the sunset."
She went inside. Not long after, the rain began to fall.
Nicole curled up on the couch to watch some TV. That's when the front door swung open.
Denise walked in, dropping a box of pizza on the table.
"Did you buy what I told you to?" she asked, not even looking at her daughter.
"Yes," Nicole replied. "The change is on the counter."
"I see you finally got your head on straight. Didn't steal from me this time…"
"And I also saw your little graduation paper, finally your now one step to being a grown-up"
can't wait so that I can leave Nicole thought to herself.
The front door slammed open, and Jack stormed inside, the stench of alcohol thick around him. His eyes were wild, filled with rage as he hurled accusations at Denise.
Nicole's heart hammered in her chest. She tried to slip past; to disappear up the stairs but Jack's gaze locked onto her like a predator spotting prey.
"Where do you think you're going, little rat?" His voice was low, dangerous.
Before she could react, his rough hand yanked her by the hair, ripping her backwards. Pain shot up her scalp, white-hot and fierce. She stumbled, arms flailing, trying to break free.
The voices in her head screamed in terror.
He's coming for you. You have to fight. You have to make him stop.
She pressed her hands to her ears, trembling, desperate to drown out the cruel noise.
Jack's fist crashed into her face.
A sharp crack echoed, and warm blood blossomed from her lip. She tasted copper, bitter and sickening.
Again. And again.
Each blow was a thunderclap against her skull, her vision swimming with stars and shadows.
She sank to the floor, tears blurring everything.
Then something inside her shattered fear twisting into fierce, wild defiance.
Her hands scrambled across the room until they found a heavy wine bottle. Her fingers closed around its cold neck.
With a trembling yell, she swung.
Glass shattered against Jack's temple. He staggered, shock flashing in his eyes.
Seizing the moment, she grabbed a wooden chair. Her arms shook with adrenaline as she brought it down, again and again.
"Stop! Just stop!" Her voice cracked, raw with pain and desperation.
Denise stood frozen; mouth open, unable to move.
Jack crumpled to the floor, dazed and bleeding.
Nicole collapsed into a corner, chest heaving, tears streaming down her bruised face.
"They won't stop," she whispered brokenly, "the voices… they won't stop…"
"You're fucking crazy! What have you done?"
Police sirens wailed in the distance as neighbors, disturbed by the noise from Nicole's house, called 911. Jack lay unconscious on the floor. Nicole sat curled up in a corner, her hands clutching her ears.
When the police arrived, they questioned both Nicole and Denise. Denise was too shocked to say much, barely able to speak. Nicole told them she had acted in self-defense. Jack was taken to the hospital with a concussion, a broken arm, and several scratches.