Drown In Your Love (SLOW)

08: hurt my feelings

To you, who I owe.

DAE XAVIER

"You-" Mom points at me and motions for me to come with her finger. Like a hook getting the fish that has no idea it's about to die. "Come here." My head pounds as I walk over, being hungover is something I don't enjoy.

I don't know what's going to happen.

She sighs, and I feel it all the way in my bones. It's like someone took a hammer and is busting my knees out as she rubs her temples.

I feel weak.

"Why weren't you home? I said not to go out because we're having an NYE party. Why weren't you home." Her voice is stern. She doesn't look at me.

"I had a get-together with my friends," I say calmly, hoping that my calm makes sure I don't walk out of here hurt. "I never get to hang out with my friends."

My Mom laughs in my face, quite literally, she laughs. Her earrings dangle with each laugh that comes out of her mouth.

She grabs a napkin and taps her lips dry. "You?" She points again. I mentally try and prepare myself for whatever she's about to say. "Have friends? You?" Her brows quirk up and a grin dances across her lips.

My eyes find my intertwined hands on my lap hidden by the dark marbled countertop. I try to swallow down the pain forming in my throat and breathe deeply to ease the suffocating feeling in my chest.

"I have friends, Mom," my eyes don't leave my hands that pick at my cuticles. "You know that," I whisper.

"You don't have friends and if the people you hung out with are your so-called friends," she air quotes friends. "They aren't your friends because who would want to be friends with you? Someone who doesn't leave the house, is extremely quiet, and doesn't do anything?" She shrugs.

I wince at each word she uses to describe me.

She's wrong.

Outside this house, I'm bubbly, outgoing, and happy. All of the above to show everyone that nothing bad is happening at my house, my home.

I don't want people to know what goes on. So I hide it the best way I know. Be bubbly, happy, and outgoing. Because who would ever know?

"What?" She questions. "Look at me, did I hit the nail?"

I close my eyes and inhale.

"Don't fucking ditch us again unless you want another talking session or whatever this was," she waves before walking down the long and dark hallway, her heels clicking with each step she takes, leaving me to sit in the kitchen alone.

My body slumps forward as I lay my head inside my arms. Covered from the outside world and the silence.

All I did was hang out with my friends on New Year's Eve. I don't understand why she's mad, they don't care what I do anyway, I'd be in my room during the party.

Why is she acting like she cares? Why now? What's her motive?

Everything my family does is suspicious.

In the next ten minutes, she'll walk back down the hallway and apologize to me.

But I always say one thing — pretend to forgive — but never forget.

I've gone way too far down this hole to forgive and not forget. How would I forget all that I've endured? I could never.

People say sorry but do they truly ever mean it? Sorry is just a word. How can I believe that if they're going to do what they're apologizing for again?