Chapter Text
The bell for lunch rings too loudly for your ears, flinching as you finish slipping your pencil case into your binder, snapping you out of your daze.
“Alright, everyone! That packet’s due Friday, so make sure to-”
You walk out of the classroom and into the sea of students clamoring down the hall to wherever they need to be for lunch. Loud shouts and sneakers screaming across the tiles fill the air as you follow the tide, worming your way down the stairs and into a lunch line.
You go through the motions of grabbing the first tray of food you see: cheese pizza with a cup of steamed peas and chunks of carrot, a brown carton of milk, and a rock-solid, mostly freezer-burnt tub of what's supposed to be a mixed fruit ice cream.
Then, you wait until you get to the front of the line, punch in your student ID code, and turn to leave.
“Wait.”
You pause, the lunch lady types something on the nearby monitor, and ice sinks into your gut.
She looks up, something akin to apologetic, and mutters.
“Sorry, sugar, you don’t have the money for that.”
As you hand over the tray, heat crawls up your neck at the quiet snickers of your peers in line behind you; she gives you a new one: plastic-wrapped cheddar cheese slapped between two slices of whole wheat bread, and a white milk.
You waddle away from the counter and out the open doors to the courtyard, the heat already curdling on your body. You take a sharp left, sneak through a slip in the chain link fence, and take a few minutes to shuffle into your usual lunch spot.
It was behind the gym and tucked underneath the bleachers on the football field, which was locked to students during lunch, giving a bit of privacy to wallow when your financial situation was just announced to anyone close enough to hear it.
You toss your tray onto the dead grass and open the milk, sipping on it as the sun bakes you.
Of course, there wasn’t any money in the account; Mom was in charge of all that.
And now she’s not.
Tears sting hot in your eyes, the half-empty milk being slammed into the grass, and you watch as the milk gushes out.
Your stomach grumbles, and you eye the plastic-wrapped ‘sandwich’.
No. Not today.
That plain bagel you choked on for breakfast as your grandma screamed at you to get to school wasn’t helping the knotting in your stomach.
You sniffle and shut your eyes, feeling the void darken until it’s just you, the birds, and sticky Texas heat…
And wishing the world would stop kicking you in the teeth already.
Since you stopped talking to your friends after that night, you wished that you cared enough to start any conversation with them again. You wished they'd care about you again.
You wished that you cared about your schoolwork, about all the midterms that were coming up, because… because you had to have good grades. Why? Just because.
The way Dad smiled at you when you brought home an A+ on an English paper came to mind.
Tears finally slipped down your cheeks, a hiccup here, a cough there.
You wished Mom were here rather than catching the first flight back to her new apartment in New York once school started again, after signing those divorce papers.
Shaky breaths came in waves, choking on the heavy lump in your throat.
You wished Ellie were a girl you saw in your school’s hallways, that you’d wave to, and she would wave back with a half-smile, maybe strike up a conversation, maybe not.
You wished Ellie would lean against your locker and smirk after suggesting you should skip with her, and sit next to you in class when you convinced her to stay, passing notes back and forth, sharing secret smiles.
You wished Ellie could sit under the bleachers after finding you, and hand one of her earbuds over so you could listen to Train from her Walkman, maybe let you doodle little hearts and smiley faces on her high-tops. Maybe she’d show you her song lyrics and be all nonchalant about them as if they weren’t great.
Maybe she’d offer her lunch to you, brushing her hunger off, and chuckling when you said you wouldn’t eat if she didn’t. Eventually, she’d eat just to please you.
You wished Ellie wasn’t a voice in your headset, spitting curses when she died, pretending not to care when you won a match, teasing you for ‘cheating,’ and talking with you till the early hours of the morning, or until either of your phones died.
You wished Ellie wasn’t just an online friend, that she could be here, and not all the way in Wyoming, to be the one light in your life at the moment.
The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. You wiped your eyes.
You picked yourself up after a moment, walked inside, and went to your locker, taking everything you needed with you as if you were going home, and walked out the front doors, no one batting an eye at the girl walking out of school with a backpack and no plans of returning.
You wish Ellie were here to walk out of school with you, to laugh at how she was a bad influence on you, to take your mind off the pain. To take your mind off the trouble you’d be in when you got home.
To ride on her skateboard on the road next to the sidewalk, with her guitar case in hand, to smirk over her shoulder and sarcastically suggest doing a kick flip. All while you worried about her dropping her guitar or breaking her neck.
You wished for a lot of things as you walked alone, not sure where you were going, but knowing where you wanted to be.
As you walked, you slipped your phone out of your skinny jeans’ front pocket and opened it, tapping on the messenger app, and double-tapped on Ellie’s contact.
You barely heard the first ring as you lifted it to your ear before the call picked up. Nearly sighing with relief as her voice filled your ear. Your shoulders slumped as the weight of your sudden half-day melted like butter on hot toast.
“Alright, what happened?”
You huffed at her teasingly resigned tone, not quite in the mood.
“Hi, yes, I’m doing good, thanks so much for asking.”
Her laugh at your snarky reply lifted your spirits just slightly, you wiped your sweaty forehead with the back of your wrist.
“Just…” you trailed off, swallowing, trying to dislodge the new lump in your throat.
“Just…?” she questioned, tone more intrigued than playful now.
“Just wanted to hear your voice,” You whispered as your cheeks flushed at your confession, knowing Ellie was a little more reserved with heavier emotions.
It was silent on the other end, just for a moment.
A small, disbelieving chuckle made your face burn hotter, but the near-longing sigh that came after surprised you.
Ellie’s tone was softer than expected, more… sentimental. “Mhm, Miss you too.”
The words hung in the air. You stopped at a light, waiting for your turn to cross the street.
Your lip quivered, and a wet breath rattled out of your lungs as something knocked your heart just a little off kilter.
“... Are you crying? Oh shit, I’m so-”
You wiped your eyes with the back of your knuckles, hands shaky.
“No, not really. Sorry, I just… I miss you too, Ellie.”
You laugh despite the tightness of your throat. You blink up at the light and cross as it turns green.
“That’s kinda stupid, huh? Missing someone I’ve never even met?”
You regretted the words as soon as they fled out of your mouth like escaping prisoners, tongue heavy with emotion. You swallowed, as if you could somehow take them back. Slight panic seeped into your skin. You sat down on a bench outside a nearby coffee shop, running a hand through your hair. Your head hurts.
“Sorry- I’m kinda a mess right now, fuck…” The tears were really flowing now, not rushing out, but a steady stream.
Ellie’s lowered tone grounded you, although it sounded like she was also at a bit of a loss. “It’s- it’s okay, um…”
She sighed tiredly, probably drumming her fingers against something when she was nervous.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in school? It’s like… noon, your time, right?”
You slowly nodded, feeling guilty for making Ellie uncomfortable, but grateful for the distraction.
“Yeah, but I skipped… I just wasn’t feeling it.”
“… I skipped too, told Joel I felt sick.”
Your brows furrowed, worry tingling in your stomach.
“Are you sick?”
Ellie didn’t reply for a long moment. “...Kinda? It’s just one of those days, like, you wake up and hate the thought of… being out there? Of doing things? With people putting responsibilities on you?”
You could hear her shift, probably still in bed, with the knowledge she skipped.
“I just… didn’t want that shit today.”
You didn’t know how to continue the conversation from that point, and just hummed in what you hoped sounded sympathetic.
The heat was getting to you, being midday in November in Texas, and your crying left you drained.
Ellie spoke up again, voice gentle. “Are you alright?”
You shook your head and stood, calculating how far you were from your house.
“Tired, but I still wanna… be with you.”
“Yeah, same.”
The conversation dried up from there, just the sounds of your breathing as you made your way to your house, feeling dead to the world.
After a long ten minutes, you finally turned the street corner and faced your house. You eagerly climbed the steps and unlocked it, groaning deeply as cool air hit your sweaty body.
“That good, huh?” Ellie snarked, you could hear the smirk on her lips.
You half-heartedly snorted, kicking off your sneakers and dropping your backpack onto the entryway floor before trudging to your bedroom.
“AC is a godsend, Ellie, don’t judge me,” You mumbled as you opened your door and flopped on your bed, letting your phone bounce on the sheets.
Ellie said something you didn’t catch, and you rolled over to put the call on speakerphone and plug it in to your charger.
“What?”
“I said, are you free tonight?” she repeated, hope tinted in her words.
You snuggled underneath the bedsheets, eyelids growing heavy. The guilt of skipping was really sinking in now, stomach coiled tight in worry. Throwing an arm over your eyes and nose scrunching at the smell of your sleeve, you sigh. “Probably not, depending on if Dad reads the emails that I wasn’t in my afternoon classes… and if he’ll take my phone away.”
“Mmhm. I’ll get my ink well and scrolls ready, What’s your address?”
“You know it, jerk.”
You awoke to the sound of keys jingling and a door opening, golden hour sunlight casting shadows on the walls of your room.
“Honey,” Dad called out, exhaustion dripping from every word. “Can you take in the groceries?”
You groaned, eyes burning from the tears shed hours earlier. Heaving yourself up, you blink the grogginess from your eyes and stumble out of your open door and into the entryway, squinting at the car from the open front door, still running.
“You left the car running, Dad!” you called as you walked down the steps and around to the trunk of the car, already open.
There wasn’t an answer, just the barking of the dachshund from a house two houses down.
You exhaled. At least there were only two bags to carry.
You carried the bags in, set them on the kitchen counter, and turned to hear a ringtone long ingrained in your brain.
You quickly jogged to your room, snagged your phone off its charger, and answered the call.
“Hey,” you sighed, already regretting lying in your bed. How could you ever get back up when the warm, soft sheets beckoned you to stay forever?... even if they did smell like dry sweat.
“Hey… how are you?” She seemed more cautious of her words, like she was being delicate.
You shrugged, eyes fluttering closed. “Like I didn’t sleep at all.”
“Honey,” your dad called from the kitchen, tired annoyance laced in his breath with the routine sound of a bottle cap popping off. “I’ve told you already, close the trunk after!–”
You cut him off with a dramatic groan and call back in reply, sitting up. “And I’ve already told you, Dad! It isn’t like Grandma’s car; you need to use the key to close it! You can’t pull it closed!”
You could see the shadow of him stomping towards your room in a storm of frustration; he leaned against your doorframe, beer bottle in hand. “Don’t talk back to me, and you could’ve gotten the key from me, closed it, and put stuff away instead of being on your damn phone!”
Chest rising with indignation, you snapped. “Well, sorry I can’t read minds, Dad, since that’s what you're asking from me! And just close the trunk yourself! You have the key!”
“I’m not taking this from you right now,” he resigned. A frustrated breath puffed out his cheeks.
“I’m not taking this from you right now,” he repeated, slamming your door shut as he left.
The silence swallows you like a black hole, and you almost wish it was a black hole, maybe then you’d end up in a universe where you weren’t miserable. Letting out a shaky breath, you lay back down, the stale sweat hitting your nose with burning annoyance.
“Well, fuck him.”
You jumped, hissing as the plastic of your phone case clipped your fingernails, shaking out the teeth gritting, stinging pain. “Don’t say that! He’s my dad!” you stammered, hurt by Ellie denouncing your dad like that… and embarrassed that she heard the entire exchange. “That’s a mean thing to say!”
“But I’m right.” Ellie defended as you sucked on your throbbing fingers. “And you were right, he’s being a dick over a trunk.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to swear at him, though!” You shot back, at a loss on how to feel. “He’s just stressed, and probably forgot about the key,” you sighed, running your unharmed hand down your face. Hot tears begin burning behind your eyelids. “I shouldn't have yelled at him, and I shouldn’t have skipped school. I’m just making this harder-”
“God, just shut up!” Cut off your spiral with a raw sharpness you’ve never heard from Ellie. “I’m not gonna sit here and listen to you bully yourself into thinking it’s your fault. It isn’t. Did you leave the trunk open? No, you didn’t. So it’s not your fault.”
You sat with Ellie’s words, blood boiling and tears slipping down your face from how she’d swore about your dad; like she was allowed to talk to an adult, much less a stranger, to your face and for you to not be appalled by it. “You don’t get to say that,” you hiccuped, voice small and watery. “You don’t get to talk to me or my dad that way; what’s wrong with you? Why would you say that?”
“I’m saying it because it’s true!” Ellie replied, voice tight with a sense of unfairness. “He’s being a dick and you’re talking yourself into thinking you’re at fault! I’m backing you up!”
Despite yourself, a bitter laugh rattled up and out of your throat. “How are you backing me up when you’re actively swearing at my dad? You don’t know him! What if you and Joel fought, and I started saying he’s a dick? You’d be saying the same shit!”
The swearing hit hard on the roof of your mouth, making your empty stomach churn with a sick, oily layer of guilt.
“That’s different.” Ellie finally said, voice dropping somewhere low and cold that made your arms prickle up with goosebumps. “Joel isn’t like that.”
“You called him a suffocating asshole all last week because you drank some of his beer with your friends and grounded you after he found out,” you deadpanned, ready to drop the call and go take a shower. “Sounds like he did the right thing, despite your portrayal of him. At least I didn’t tear him down right along with you; I thought you were a better person than this, Ellie.”
You were really crying now, your words like acid on your tongue. “Is it different because he’s not really your dad?” your voice cracked, hating everything that came out of your mouth. “Or that you wouldn’t say those things to my dad if he was standing right in front of you, to his face? Not from the safety of two states away?”
You could hear Ellie’s forceful breaths through the mic, like she was trying to hold back destroying your friendship for good.
“Say that again,” she growled, voice hollowed out and sharp like a razor blade. “I fucking dare you.”
“Now you know how I feel.” You replied, wholly petty and dark. A digital beep ended the call smoothly. Your thumb pressed against the red ‘end call’ button that was just there a minute ago.
Carelessly tossing your phone onto your bed, you stomped over to your closet, pulling out a pair of clean gray shorts, a black One Direction Midnight Memories T-shirt, and a clean pair of underwear. After picking up the towel that had been sitting on your bed for the past two days, you walked across the hall into your bathroom.
You didn’t even glance in the mirror as you undressed; you knew you were a wreck.
Your shower was short and lukewarm; your Dad probably used all the hot water while you fought with Ellie. You had barely dried your body and hair before slipping on your fresh clothes, happy to not be the source of dry sweat anymore. The cool AC hits your damp skin, making you shiver.
“Honey,” you turned your head, just having exited the bathroom, a light stream of steam flowed out. Your dad was leaning in the door frame to the kitchen, a little further down to your left side of the hall. “You skipped half your classes today.” He stated, exhausted disappointment dripping off every word.
You shrugged, too tired to argue anymore for the day. Ruffling the towel on your head, you started walking towards him and the kitchen. “Go and take my phone; it’s on my bed,” you said, slipping past him.
“I don’t want your damn phone.” He breathed, his voice rough.
You pause by the fridge, flinching at his swear. Usually, this is where he’d jump into the lecture and grounding, with you putting up some sort of fight.
With the way you could feel the bags under your eyes, and could see him own; heavy and dark. Seems neither of you are willing to escalate.
“The school called Grandma when I was in a meeting and couldn’t answer it,” he muttered, glancing down at his white and gray Dad socks. “She called me crying because you weren’t on your bus and thought you got in an accident.”
You opened the fridge, hiding behind the door like a coward, so you didn’t see his face. “Sorry I worried y’all.” You whisper, sounding useless in the quiet of the house, distracting yourself by eyeing up the last peach in the fruit drawer.
“Don’t be sorry, be better,” he spat, his stern dad voice coming out in full force. “I don’t want you doing that. You’ve never done this before. Why’d you leave?”
“Because I didn’t have any money in my account for lunch, and the lunch lady took my tray in front of everyone.” You tugged open the drawer and grabbed your peach, mouth watering at the texture against your palm. “What’s the point of eating the punishment for being poor?”
“We are not poor!” he scolded, tone venomous as he slammed the fridge door for you, making you jump back. “I gave you a PS4 last year! I bought grandma's internet when we moved in! You’ve never gone to bed hungry! You don’t get to stand there and call us poor!”
You had to place your peach on the counter behind you to not drop it from how badly your hands were shaking; your Dad’s harsh shouting had spittle flying out of his mouth. “Instead of going to the office or calling me, like an adult, you threw a tantrum and scared your Grandma to death!”
“I’m sorry,” you choke out, tears blurring your vision so badly you couldn’t make out your own feet against the white tile of the kitchen. Voice catching on the hard lump on your throat. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
He towered above you, and for the first time in your almost seventeen years of life, you thought he was going to hit you.
Instead, after a second of bated breath, he stepped away, disappearing behind the doorway leading into the hall. You knew what he was looking for.
He came back around, the familiar sight of your case gripped in his large hand. It clattered loudly against the granite counter. “I don’t want to hear another word out of you tonight, unless you’re dying.” His tone was a flat register that squeezed the blood out of your heart.
You took his words as your dismissal, taking your peach with you, despite your sudden lack of appetite. You slipped past him, a tight knot in your stomach.
You had always hated the nights you went without wishing your family goodnight, or that you loved them.
Stepping into your room and carefully shutting the door, you pivoted on your bedside lamp; the darkness twisted your heart.
Empty and drained, you made yourself as comfortable as you could under your comforter, eyes following the lazy spinning of your fan’s blades until you fell asleep.