How can one day go from being so good to a living nightmare in such a short amount of time? My head is spinning. I feel completely and utterly lost, being that my entire life might change once again just because of one simple letter.

I told Gerard I wanted him to leave me alone for a while (which is ironic because of how desperately I don't want to leave him), and he respected that. Though, now that I am alone, the whole situation has become even more depressing because I lack the skills to comfort myself.

I haven't broken down like this in a long time, but I now find myself sobbing into my pillow, and wishing for this to be some kind of cruel joke. Or perhaps for it really to just be a long, drawn out dream that my mind created to torture me.

But I won't be waking up from this.

My sobs turn from those of sorrow to plain anger and frustration and desperation and I find myself overwhelmed, barely able to breathe (here comes those grounding techniques). And all because I hate her.

Laura fucking Barry.

Hate is a strong word, but I truly believe that that is the feeling currently coursing through my veins. That I hate that woman and the life she gave me, everything she did and put me through. I'm not sure I'll be able to handle seeing her again in person, if only the concept of doing so has gotten me in such a state.

A state which lasts at least an hour, until my eyes are dry and stinging, and my pillow is a sopping mess atop my disheveled bedsheets.

If crying is good for you, then why do I feel so bad now? Why is my throat so sore, and why am I feeling so drained, yet so full of anxious energy? Why does my head feel so heavy as it swims with memories of a life I thought I'd left behind? Even with things that I'd forgotten all about until now.

"That piece of shit!" I stumbled backwards as an empty beer bottle flew across the room, smashing on the wall, inches away from a window. "That lying piece of shit! He said he loved me."

My eyes darted around, my heart pounded. I'd have to run by her to get out of the room, and I wanted to stay as far away as possible. I settled on ducking behind the couch, flinching when I heard another bottle shatter against the wall. I bit my tongue to stop myself from crying out. My breathing came out in quick short gasps I desperately tried to quieten behind my hand.

I thought I'd seen the end of that side of my mother. The angry, uncaring, always-on-edge side. Things were almost normal— or as normal as I could imagine any life to be— with Anthony around. Sure, he didn't like me. And, sure, he treated me like something not far from a slave, but I could handle his shoving, his cigarette breath yelling in my face, if it meant my mother was kept in a good mood. And I did, for a month.

Just as I began to fear for the safety of our living room windows, the space was plunged into silence again. Of course, I could still hear my mother's heavy breathing and the pounding of my own little heart. I thought it was safe, so I slowly poked my head out from behind the couch.

I was mistaken.

My mother snapped her head up and looked at me, seething with a rage I'd never seen before. The woman in front of me didn't look like my mother anymore— or like any mother, for that matter— and she certainly didn't look only twenty-one years old. The bags under her red-rimmed eyes, along with her slightly hollowed out cheeks and drawn face added at least twenty years to her age.

I regretted giving away my hiding spot as I watched, paralyzed in fear while she pointed a shaking finger in my direction. "You," she growled.

"M-mommy," I whimpered, the word barely audible.

She took a menacing step forward. "He left because of you, you little bitch!" she shrieked.

As always, my six year old brain soaked up every word I heard as it was all coming from the only authority figure (I can't go ahead and call her a parental figure) I'd ever known. So, naturally, I decided that, yes, she was right. It was all my fault. I'd ruined the only thing resembling peace I'd ever known for both of us.

My mother went on, "He never liked you. He was right, I should've gotten rid of you like he wanted!" her voice was bridging on the edge of hysterical as she spat, "I fucking wish you weren't here."

She turned her back on me then, all 3 feet and 8 inches of me, and left me cowering behind the couch with tears I wouldn't let fall threatening to spill down my face. I heard the front door slam which caused me to flinch yet another time and I knew I wouldn't see her again until at least the next morning.

In that moment, I, too, fucking wished I wasn't there.

Snap out of it, Eve, or you'll start crying again. But I can't just snap out of it. I just know this'll be the only thing on my mind until the court date. March 23rd.

Evelyn: Em

Evelyn: it's important

I wait a few minutes, staring at my phone with bated breath as I anxiously play with my hands.

I just need to figure out how to tell her about this. I have no idea how she'll take it. We've been together for a while, but sometimes I still find myself wondering how much she really likes me. We could be standing at the alter one day, about to say "I do," and I'd pause to ask, "Are you sure I'm not just annoying you?"

Finally, my phone screen lights up. The text reads: Oh no. What happened?

Um, I got my beginner's license this morning, I type back. Yes, I'm stalling.

Emerald: Oh! It's good news! Congrats <3

Ouch. I don't even have time to dwell on the instant guilt that settles in the pit of my stomach before a light knocking sounds on my bedroom door. A quick check of the time tells me it's probably Gee or Lindsey here to tell me it's time for lunch.

Sure enough, when Gee pushes open my door, he has a plate with a sandwich on it and a juice box. I drink juice boxes because I'm still a kid. Mentally, anyway.

"Are we not sitting at the table?" I ask as I take the items from his hands.

"I just wanted to come up here and check on you," he explains, settling in the black chair, as always.

That's when I realize how much of a mess I must look after crying for well over an hour. I subconsciously bring my hand up to my hair, combing my fingers through it a few times. At least I didn't put any eyeliner on this morning.

"I'm... I'm scared." I decide on saying honestly, but 'scared' doesn't cover it. Though, I don't think I possess the vocabulary to cover the extent of the anxiety, the rage, the plain sadness that's like a physical weight on my chest.

He nods understandingly. "Honestly, me too."

"Oh, you shouldn't have said that. Now I'm extra scared. If you're scared then I'm extra scared, that's how it works."

"You know what? Let's change the subject," Gee suggests and I nod my head in agreement. "Why aren't you eating? Not hungry?"

"I'm just—" I look down at my plate and my stomach is immediately filled with anxious butterflies at the thought of needing to take a bite. "I'm too stressed out."

"You know that's not a reason to skip out on lunch."

When I'm feeling extra stressed out, the voice in the back of my mind gets louder. Right now it's telling me, don't eat the fucking sandwich.

"Well it's the truth."

We stay silent for a while as I hold the untouched plate in my lap, the butterflies only getting angrier. The juice box is sitting next to me on my bed. It's apple juice.

Finally, he asks, "What can I do to make it easier for you?"

I ignore his question. "Can Emerald come over? I have to tell her... you know."

"She can come over if you can eat your lunch."

"Are you seriously bribing me right now?"

"Is it working?"

Don't do it.

But I have to. I have to tell that stupidly annoying voice to fuck off, because at this point it's just frustrating and inconvenient. "Fine. But I'm gonna do it angrily." I say. I pick up my juice box and stab the straw into it forcefully.

After I've taken a long drink and taken a couple bites of my cheese sandwich, I text Emerald back. Albeit, reluctantly.

Evelyn: there's more... come over in a bit?

Emerald: Okay then. Should I be nervous?

Evelyn: probably

• • •

that title... should I be apologizing?