Username: unknown

Part 1

There's a specific kind of silence that only exists in houses like mine—big enough to echo, but never loud enough to feel alive. It's the sound of rules and structure. Of everything being in its place. Of pretending you're fine because nothing is technically wrong.

That's what my life feels like.
Technically fine.
Boring, suffocating, fine.

I live in a house with too many beige walls and not enough real conversations. My parents mean well, I guess. They love me—in their own way. My mom with her laminated meal plans and hovering texts like "Where are you?" even when I'm exactly where I said I'd be. And my dad with his half-listening nods while the news blares in the background. We're the kind of family that eats dinner together every night but never talks about anything that matters.

I think I stopped telling them real things around the time I turned fifteen.
I learned quick—some things are easier to keep to yourself.

Like how much I hate this town.
Or how I scroll TikTok at midnight, headphones in, volume low, watching videos I wouldn't dare let them see. Boys with inked arms and motorcycle helmets. Voices deep enough to make your stomach twist. Videos that loop on repeat and somehow feel more real than anything else in my life.

But I don't tell them that.
They'd freak. They always do.

Especially my mom. She thinks social media is a "gateway to bad decisions" and has a habit of walking into my room without knocking. So I've mastered the quick swipe. The innocent screen. The fake smile. I've gotten good at playing the part of the good daughter. Not because I want to—but because it's easier than arguing.

Every morning is the same.
I wake up at 6:45 to the sound of my mom knocking once before barging in.

"Time to get up," she says, like I'm not already halfway awake, staring at the ceiling, dreading another day of pretending.

Breakfast is silent. My dad reads the paper. My mom reminds me of the three things I already know.
"Don't forget to text when you get to school."
"Don't stay out late."
"Stay focused."

I nod. I smile. I leave.

The one bright spot in my day is the walk from my driveway to the corner where Lexi picks me up. She always leans halfway out the window of her beat-up Jeep, blasting music too loud and waving like a maniac. Her hair's a different color every month—right now it's fire-engine red—and she doesn't give a single shit about what anyone thinks.

"Get in, loser," she says this morning, grinning. "We're surviving another day of academic hell."

I climb in and immediately feel lighter.
Lexi talks a mile a minute, updating me on her latest drama—which boy she's toying with, what teacher she plans to argue with today, the newest TikTok conspiracy. She never shuts up, and I love her for it.

Then there's Miles.

He's already in the back seat when I slide in, sipping from a travel mug and pretending not to stare at me. He's been my best friend since forever. The boy-next-door, literally. Soft eyes, warm smile, always there when I need him. And lately, always there with that look—the one that says he wants more than I can give.

I see it.
I feel it.
But I don't say anything.

Because I don't want to lose him.
Because I don't feel the same.
Because it's easier not to deal with it.

"Morning," he says softly.

I nod. "Hey."

We drive to school, music playing, Lexi swerving slightly as she talks with her hands. I watch the trees blur past the window and try to ignore the knot in my chest. I don't know what it is. I just know it's always there. Like I'm waiting for something to happen, even though nothing ever does.

School is...school.
Hallways filled with people who don't really know me. Teachers who praise my grades but never ask how I'm actually doing. Boys who flirt because they think I'm pretty but get bored the moment I don't fall all over them.

I go through the motions.
Smiling when I'm supposed to.
Talking when I have to.
Pretending like I don't feel like I'm half-asleep all the time.

Lunch is the same as always—Lexi dominating the conversation, Miles laughing at her jokes, and me picking at my food while staring at nothing. I zone out a lot lately. My phone sits face down next to my tray, vibrating occasionally, but I ignore it. It's never anything interesting.

Until later.
Until tonight.

Because that's when I'll be alone in my room again.
Lights off.
Blanket pulled over my head.
Phone in hand.

And that's when I'll scroll.
Through videos that feel like they weren't meant to find me, but somehow always do.
Through faceless boys with smoke in their lungs and secrets in their eyes.
Through profiles I don't follow but never forget.

One of them keeps showing up more than the rest lately.
No name. No face. Just tattoos.
A helmet. A hand running along the edge of a gas tank. A voice—deep, rough, addictive.

Username: Unknown.

I haven't added him.
Not yet.

But I think about it every night.
And tonight might be the night I finally do.