I Won't Call This Hell

I slipped through the door, closing it as quietly as I could behind me. The sliding door leading to Mom's garden was open, the breeze floating inside with the song she was humming. I took a deep breath, walking as softly as I could past the island and to the stairs, up to my room.

I was sneaking around my own house.

I didn't want her to know I was home. I didn't want her to wipe off her hands, motion for us to sit in the patio chairs and ask me about my day. I didn't want to have to look into at my mother's face, at Jeremy and Lola's face, and lie. Not again.

I flicked the lights off in my room, deciding to feign sleep for now. She couldn't exactly bother me when I was exhausted from a day of classes and sleep deprivation from all of the work I've been doing.

Ha.

I plug myself into my iPod, tuck myself into the confines of my blankets. I don't know how long I lay there in bed, just listening to the music with my eyes close. Finally, Shuffle brings me what I've been looking for.

His voice fills my ears. That warm sensation, the one that has been showing up and confusing me ever since they left, bubbles up in my stomach. This song is soft, acoustic; I can picture Jared sitting beside him and playing away as he sings. The song drifts away in a few chords, minutes later.

I can hear my mom bustling around between songs, moving quickly inside and then out again. I close my eyes again, my eyes heavy from lack of sleep and shame.

They left two weeks ago. I dropped out eight days later. I move my hand to turn the volume of the song up, trying to drown out my thoughts so I could sleep.