I woke up with that heavy feeling in my chest again, like someone had stacked bricks on me while I slept. My eyes stung, gritty from crying until they burned last night. For a second, when I stared at the ceiling, I almost convinced myself it had been a nightmare. But then the silence reminded me, it wasn't.
The house didn't sound like home anymore. No clattering pans from Mom, no Josh thundering down the hallway complaining he was late, no Dad's voice booming as he tried to act like he was in charge of anything. Just the shuffle of Grandma's slippers and the faint hum of the refrigerator.
I dragged myself out of bed, every movement slow, mechanical. At the table, Grandma had left me a piece of toast. It was already cold. I chewed it anyway, but it tasted like cardboard, sticking to the roof of my mouth.
Dad hadn't come out of his room. The door was shut. Always shut. The silence behind it was worse than any shouting. Grandma moved around quietly, folding laundry that didn't really need folding, like she was keeping herself busy just to keep from breaking apart. She didn't look at me. I didn't look at her.
I sat there with the toast half-eaten, staring at the patterns in the tablecloth, and all I could think was: The world didn't end last night. It just… cracked. And I was the one holding the hammer.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
School felt louder than usual, like everyone's voices were dialed up and aimed directly at me. I walked through the hallway, but it was like walking underwater. Every laugh, every whisper rippling against my ears.
Josh's absence hadn't gone unnoticed. I caught fragments as I passed by.
"Hey, where's his little brother?"
"Didn't see Josh in class today…"
"Today? He's been absent since last week. Something happened at their place?"
The words stabbed sharper than they should have. I kept my head down, pretending my locker was the most fascinating thing in the world.
But what hurt more was when I caught Lena's voice nearby. Someone asked if she was okay.
She stiffened, gave a quick "Yeah, I'm fine," and hurried down the hall, clutching her books like a shield.
I stood frozen, watching her go. Not once did she look at me.
The space between us felt like it was stretching wider by the second, a chasm that had started with a few words I'd forced out of my mouth: I can't do this anymore. And now I feels these words are threatening to swallow me whole.
I wanted to run after her, tell her everything, collapse into her arms. But my feet stayed nailed to the floor. All I could do was watch the back of her head disappear into the crowd.
I was shoving books into my bag when I felt a shadow fall over me. I didn't need to look up. I knew her footsteps by heart.
"Ash," Lena said softly.
My chest tightened. Just my name from her lips was enough to make me want to cave.
She glanced around at the crowded hall, then leaned closer. "What's going on with you? You've been… different."
I forced a smile, the kind that cracked before it reached my eyes. "Nothing. I'm fine."
Her brow furrowed. "And Josh? He hasn't been at school for days. Is he sick?"
My throat closed. For a split second, I almost told her everything: the divorce, the fights, the wreckage waiting at home. But then Jason Marek's words slithered back, "You'll be the reason she dies".
I swallowed hard. "He's… fine. Just… needed some time."
Her lips parted, like she wanted to call me out on the lie, but she didn't. Instead, her eyes darkened with disappointment. That look hurt worse than anything she could have said aloud.
"Okay," she whispered, stepping back.
Before I could stop her, Max appeared at her side. He gave me a polite nod, then walked with her down the hall, their conversation too low for me to catch.
I stood there with my fists clenched at my sides, every instinct screaming at me to run after her, to tell her the truth.
But the words turned to ash in my mouth.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
The house was too quiet. The kind that pressed down on you like a weight, squeezing the air from your lungs.
Dad was locked away in his study again. I could hear the faint clink of glass against wood, the occasional mutter of his voice. Grandma sat in her chair by the window, sewing like she always did. Only this time, there was no soft humming, no warmth filling the room. Just the scratch of needle through fabric.
I went upstairs, shut my door, and sat at my desk with my old notebook. The one filled with scraps of poems, doodles, half-born confessions I could never say out loud.
My pen hovered over the page. Then I started scribbling. Too fast. Too hard. Words that didn't make sense, fragments of everything I couldn't contain inside me. Anger, guilt, fear. Lines about Lena's disappointed eyes, Josh's slammed door, Dad's broken voice.
The ink bled through the paper. I tore the page out, crumpled it, shoved it aside. Tried again. More words, darker this time. Each sentence felt like a wound opening on the page.
Tear. Crumple. Toss.
Over and over.
Until the floor around me was littered with balled-up paper, and my hands ached from pressing the pen too hard.
Writing was no more my sweet escape. It felt like bleeding out. It felt like screaming in the dark with all my might. But I was still a bit relieved anyway.
I stared at the mess, at the chaos I'd made.
The notebook sat heavy in my lap. Dark. Dangerous. But mine.
The room felt smaller at night. The walls closer. My bed colder.
I lay back, staring at the ceiling, but my mind wouldn't stay still. It kept dragging me backward. To Josh sitting cross-legged on the floor, trash-talking me over a video game. To him sneaking into my room at midnight just to share a secret about some girl he liked. To his laugh echoing down the hall.
And now… nothing. His side of the house was empty. Like someone had scooped out a piece of my life and left a hollow.