I'm Not Who Everyone Thinks I Am

The ride home from the center is quiet.
No one asks me about my time there.
Not that I expect them to.

When we pull into the driveway and head into the house, I have some kind of fleeting fantasy that there would be a welcome home party waiting for me, like in the movies.
But who am I kidding?
I don’t have any friends to invite.

When I go upstairs to my room, the first thing I notice is that it is almost completely bare.
Just a bed, my dresser, and a couple of my posters.
It reminds me of my rehab room.

What happened to my room?
I may not like it very much, but it’s still my room.

We’re turning it into a nursery.
My father’s voice is so cold, and mean.

Where am I going to sleep?
We’re having this conversation by yelling from upstairs to downstairs.
Typical.

We think it’s nearly time for you to move out.
You're basically an adult now.
And that’s it.
The bomb is dropped.
Yelled to me from a floor away.

How?
I don’t have money!
I’ve been in rehab for practically a year!
I’m close to crying now.
I honestly don’t know what to do.

We’ll talk about this later.
Of course.

Well, that settles things.
In a couple of months…

I’ll be homeless.