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It’s not going to be okay. I’m not okay. Please, not again.
It’s been three weeks since my probation ended, and every weekend, I close myself off in my room. The door locks, and I block it with my chair. I don’t eat, and I don’t see my parents.
That is until my dad had enough and removed the lock on my door. He told me if my door was blocked, he would leave me with only a mattress in the room, and if I used that, I’d get a sleeping bag.
He no longer uses threats, just promises.
I can see the way he treats me is wearing on my mom, but she’s afraid. He has been away longer and longer, and she’s trying to save their relationship—I think. I’m not sure, honestly. If she would leave him, maybe we could move out together. It could just be the two of us.
Maybe if I told her about my uncle, she would choose me—and make dad, too.
All I know is I’m terrified every Friday when school ends. That when I get home, my uncle will be here just waiting for me.
I haven’t seen him since I started probation, but I know it’s only a matter of time. My dad has mentioned ‘his brother’ coming around, but it hasn’t happened yet. I’m grateful, but the dread of it still haunts me.
My inner thoughts aren’t loud enough tonight, because I can hear my parents fighting, and it’s about me. I hate that it is me that causes this.
“He needs fucking help, Joanna! He’s sick!”
“He is not!” I hear something crash, and I press harder against the door, fighting not to go down to protect the only person that has ever been on my side. “You’ve never loved him like you do Eamon!”
“I loved that boy—”
“Loved?!”
I squeeze my eyes shut and collapse into a seated position, running my fingers through my hair as I grit my teeth.
“Ronan needs help. He is already showing signs of regressing! Maybe it was a mistake to get him off probation early.”
Another crash makes me jump, this time the sharp sound of glass shattering.
“If you spent time with him, maybe you could find out what is hurtingour son!”
“Don’t give me that bullshit. This isn’t my fault.”
I pull at my hair, feeling it tear from my scalp. The sting is a strange comfort, a sensation I've missed. My mental suffering is unbearable. I can't just punch my brain, tear it apart, and make it stop.
“Fuck you, Dalton. You are a piece of shit!”
Smack.
I’m far too familiar with flesh-on-flesh contact, and I’m on my feet faster than I can think. I charge down the hall, hitting the stairs just as the front door slams closed.
I hate that it’s my dad that’s standing there.
“M-Mom?”
He doesn’t look at me, instead just turns and begins stalking off toward the kitchen.
“Mom?” I hit the first floor and head to the front door. When I open it, I see her pulling out of the driveway. I’m about to run after her, but a firm grip takes my upper arm, yanking me back inside.
“Give it a fucking rest, she needs a break from you and this house.” He slams the door shut right in my face, before letting me go.
I drop my gaze to the tile below me, searching for the pieces of me that are slowly falling apart. She can’t leave me, not like Eamon.
“I have plans this weekend,” Dad grumbles.
My knees slam into the floor, but I don’t focus on the sharp crack or the cold door pressing against my forehead as I lean forward.
