RUSH

Ch. 29: The Antithesis of a Moth

-Bennett-

I frowned into the obscurity of the living room, taking a reluctant step inside before closing the door behind me. The awry creaking of the faded, brown door served as the sole announcement of my return, a faint sound accompanying my weary breathing before I turned around and stumbled past the couch.

Coming back had been harder tonight.

Despite an already wavering resolve, I'd somehow managed to climb onto the last bus of the night. But everything after that felt like fragments of moments I was still trying to piece together. The house had felt farther away, in spite of the route being the same. And once I stepped out onto the usual bus stop near my house, the pavement seemed to stretch out into a void with no clear destination.

The streets had all drifted into loops of cognate unfamiliarity under the dimness of the late night, blending into an endless cycle of self-sabotage; it was my own procrastination come to fruition out of sheer willfulness, leading me astray. And I just let it happen.

I'd felt disoriented despite recognizing every street name, and my hands had gripped so tightly to the straps of my backpack as I walked by. Perhaps I'd just wanted to get lost... once and for all. Maybe then it'd stop feeling like this. So bitter and empty.

So, I let myself amble for as long as I physically could, clinging on to the knowledge that there was nothing waiting for me at the end of the line.

Counting on it, really.

Despite the bone-deep fatigue assailing my body, I'd roamed about for what felt like hours, wandering past my house a few more times before mustering up the courage to walk up the driveway where the parked red pick-up truck rested. By then, my chest didn't have that familiar tightness, though my legs were still burning with every stubborn step.

Eventually, once it all had dimmed down as they turned in for the night, I finally approached the lawn; I peered up at the windows cautiously, willingly serving as the antithesis of a moth. This wasn't my moon, yet my movements seemed to mirror its will all the same.

Still, I'd wandered in spite of it, not through its guidance.

I liked to remind myself of this every so often, as trivial as it may seem. Even if I could still feel a thin thread tying me back to the very foundation, stuck under feet of wood and concrete. It was still a warm reminder that my instinct wasn't that of mindless trust. That I was stuck, but not oblivious to it.

My eyes would glaze over every time I walked past, realizing I'd gone in another loop that led me right back. Because at the end of the day, this was what I boiled down to.

I didn't know much else.

The fury filling my lungs would still dissipate by morning, just as it always did. And I would be okay, or some twisted semblance of it.

I had to be.

My fingers had grazed across the cool metal as I stumbled past my father's red clunker, glancing up at the dwelling with a disdain that I hadn't quite expected. I'd released a shaky sigh while pressing my fingers flesh against the side of the truck, wishing they could pierce deep into the metal as I went.

A warning punctuated by resentment.

---

I was still standing there, aimlessly basking in the quiet of the living room, when I heard the soft sound of someone clearing their throat. I blinked slowly, nervously peering deeper into the house.

Still, it took a few more steps before I realized who was there.

"Mom?" I called out under my breath, faintly discerning the petite frame of my mother sitting at the end of the dining room table, her head turned away from me.