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If I squint, I can almost remember when my parents weren’t fighting. When there was peace. When it didn’t hurt to be alive. The fighting’s been going on for weeks. Always something mundane, being exaggerated to the highest degree. I lie in my room with all the lights off, staring at the ceiling. I keep thinking.
Are they fighting because of me?
it’s the only explanation really. I’m the subject of most of they’re fights when it’s not about chores or work. I’m pretty sure I’m the problem. it’s my fault they don’t love each other anymore. Maybe if I disappeared they’d be happy. Yeah, if I was gone they wouldn’t fight. So it’s settled, I grab my hoodie and a backpack and pack some clothes, then I sneak into the bathroom and pack my toothbrush and toothpaste, then I put my shoes on. I grab my teddy bear and crawl out the window, running as fast as I can and not looking back. They won’t even notice I’m gone.