Page 8 of Bound By Threads
It’s simple. Open your mouth and tell her that they locked you in here, leaving you alone with the memories of that night all over again.
But no words come out; silence engulfs me like it always does.
She lets out a weary sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Silence, as usual. I remember when you were a chatty little thing, never mind. I’ll leave it this once, but if it happens again, it will be a week of detention. Do you understand?”
I nod my head, feeling a mix of relief and anger that they left me here. I quickly pick up my backpack off the floor and sign thank you to her before rushing out the door.
I stomp to my locker,anger surging as my frustration at no longer being able to talk and the betrayal of my old friends boil over.
I want to talk. I want to be able to explain to my teachers why I’m late. Speak to my dad and beg him to get sober because watching him slowly kill himself as he wallows in his self-pity is not how I want to watch him die.
There’s a persistent mental barrier lodged in my head that prevents me from forming words. I know precisely the moment it took hold of me, rendering me voiceless in my worst moment, but no matter what I do, I can’t talk.
I’ve tried in the silence of my room with no one there as I try to practice sounding out the words again like a baby learning to talk for the first time. I’ve tried visiting the beach at midnight, hoping the sound of the waves crashing against the rocks would be enough for me to talk under it, but nothing.
Not even a scream leaves my lips anymore, and Mom has tried more than once to make me break.
I slam my locker door shut, the metallic clang echoing down the hallway.
Anger, frustration, and loneliness coil tightly around my heart, squeezing until it feels like I can’t breathe anymore.
Just as I’m about to turn away, I notice a small, crumpled piece of paper fluttering to the ground. I sigh, knowing exactly what it is, but curiosity has me picking it up.
The words scrawled on the paper make my heart hurt, and I blink away tears as I stuff the note in my pocket, my eyes scanning the hallways for the three boys who love to make my life hell, but thankfully, they’re nowhere to be seen.
I head to my last class and try to find some peace, as it’s one of the only classes I don’t share with the three of them.
Mrs Tully greets me with a warm, understanding smile as I sneak into class and continues to talk as I take my seat. She’s one of the few teachers who don’t try to demand a reason from me after witnessing what Roman and the others do to me.
However, she can’t do much about it. Roman’s dad owns this shitty little town, including our school, basically making Roman and, by extension, his friends untouchable, free to do whatever he tells them to do.
My thoughts keep drifting back to the note in my pocket. It feels heavier than just a piece of paper, so I pull it out. The paper is worn, the ink smudged, but the message is clear... cruel.
This isn’t the first ‘message’ they’ve sent me, but it seems with each one, their hatred for me intensifies — every word cutting deeper than the last. I fold the note carefully and push it back into my pocket.
My heart feels heavy, like the ache that has lived there for years is slowly killing it.
Is there anyone in this world who truly loves me?
* * *
I turneighteen in forty-eight hours, and I don’t think Dad is even going to remember this year. He’s far too busy drowning his sorrows at the bottom of the bottle and his pipe.
I hastily write a note for Mom about the money she owes and stuff it into my pocket for later, just as the bell rings. Then, slowly, I put my things away, wanting to avoid bumping into the guys as much as possible.
Maybe it’s also avoiding going home since the last few months have turned into a waking nightmare. Every time I step through the door, I’m met with a mom who’s itching for a fight with her voiceless daughter, who no longer has the energy to fight back, fueled by the alcohol that runs through her veins, and a dad who’s too high even to notice.
I want to escape to the beach, breathe in the air there, and daydream about another life — one where I still had my three best friends who cared for me when my parents didn’t.
A time when my dad stuck to his promises of being sober, protecting me from Mom, when she fell further into her addiction. Escaping with me to the sand and water for hours to keep me from witnessing what my mom had turned into, shielding me from the harsh reality that our lives were getting worse.
And when I wasn’t ruined, voiceless, and completely and utterly alone.
I get off the bus,silently thanking the driver, and make the usual walk home.
Each step feels heavier the closer I get, as if I know what’s waiting for me on the other side.
When I finally reach my doorstep, my limbs feel like dead weight. I pause and take a deep breath to steel myself.
