This Might Be My Last

In the sea of my black and rainbow bedsheets, "WHAT THE FUCK?!" is what I hear.
What the fuck, indeed.
What the fucking fuck?
I sit up.
Voices get louder.
"Emily? Where...what's going on."
Silence.
It's not her.
It's not me.
It's them, them downstairs.
Yet again.
"And I won't be coming ba-"
Not now Vic.
Not the time for your beautiful voice.
Not now.
I pull on my discarded penguin pajama bottoms.
My door is already open as I sneak out.
The voice gets louder.
She's angry.
He's nonchalant.
She's wants his phone.
She wants the truth.

I move closer to the stairs.
She starts crying and he becomes even more of an asshole.
"Em, what do I do?"
I'm getting scared.
The adrenaline is coursing through my veins.
I'm ready for anything.
I'll fuck up the world.
I'm practically give the finger to the universe with a sneer that says, "Bring it. I dare you."

The feeling dies as their voices follow suit.
'It's over', I think.
But it's quickly taken back.
She's angry and yelling again.
He doesn't care.
I can't handle the nerves.
I can't take the power.
Fear.
Fear.
Fear.
Fucking run.
Get her.
'EMILY!'
Too much.
Too much.
My shadow looks lethal.
I am not me.
I text my best friend.
She brings me back.
It's okay, she texts.
It's okay.
I'm here.
Back into myself.
My vision is clear.
Not for long.

So here I am.
Documenting my moment.
I'm waiting.
At the top of the stairs.
Ready to kill.
"You can't handle this."
Emily.
Shut the fuck up.
Mom.
Mom.
Mom.
Mom.
She can't get hurt.
I won't allow that shit.