A Love in Bloom

Static In The Air

Aurora Monét

March 7th, 2025|3:35 pm

The thing is, people keep talking about "quiet" after school like it's some golden hour for chilling out, but that's a lie, at least in my world. My house doesn't really do quiet. It's more like... this soup of background noise that nobody else seems to notice. Muffled footsteps—always someone moving around, but never actually going anywhere. The hum of tension, like the walls themselves are holding their breath. Sometimes I swear the air's so thick you could carve your initials in it. Maybe that's just me being weird. Or maybe houses just remember stuff.

So yeah, I come home, toss my bag onto the bed, and just kind of collapse next to it. Not even tired, just... drained. I scroll through my phone, but it's all white noise—memes from Amira, TikTok tags, someone in the group chat making plans I know I'll dodge. I don't even bother to reply. I'm not trying to be rude; it's just, sometimes it takes too much energy to be present for people, even the ones you actually like.

After a few minutes, I get up, light a blunt, crack my window. Cold air sneaks in, and for a second, it's like the outside world tries to sneak into my bubble. You can hear the cars below, people living their lives, not even knowing I'm up here hiding out. Smoking's not a solution, let's be real, but it's something to do with my hands when my brain's running a marathon I never signed up for. Plus, the smell covers up the leftover scent of whatever my stepdad cooked for dinner. Or maybe it's just his voice lingering, all fake-friendly and too loud, like he thinks volume makes up for actually caring. He's got this way of talking where you know he's wearing a mask, and it just makes my skin crawl. Door stays locked tonight. I'm not up for small talk or forced smiles.

My phone buzzes—Jazlyn this time. Just a simple "yo, what's up?" Like, she's barely dipping her toe in, trying to see if I'll bite. There's a whole conversation hiding behind those three words, but neither of us is ready to dig it up. I stare at it, thumb hovering, and then toss the phone back to the bed. Not today, not now. not ever.

Didn't even get a chance to cool off before the screen lights up again. Not Jazlyn. It's Jorja. Of course. Her timing is actually freaky, like she's got this sixth sense for when I'm finally starting to unclench. My stomach twists itself into a pretzel just seeing her name. I haven't even opened the message, but I know it's gonna get in my head. I do it anyway, because, I dont know, maybe I hate myself a little. Or maybe it's just habit.

JORJA: I heard about you and Jazlyn. She's not me. You'll realize that soon enough.

Classic Jorja—never misses a chance to worm her way into my brain with the guilt and the games. She doesn't even have to be in the room to mess with my wiring. It's like she left a blueprint inside me and knows exactly which buttons to press, even with just a text.

I drop the phone, face down, stare at the ceiling like it's got answers. My jaw's so tight, it hurts. I want to text back. I want to tell her she's wrong, that she doesn't live in my head anymore, that I'm not playing her game. But honestly? The louder part of me just wants to vanish. Delete everything, start over somewhere nobody knows my name, let alone my baggage. That's probably not healthy, but it's real.

So I shuffle over to my speaker, plug in my phone, and flick through playlists. My thumb stops on Popular Loner by Rod Wave. I've been dodging that song, because, let's be honest, it's not background noise. It's "let's dig up all the stuff you tried to bury and sit with it" music. The kind you put on when you want to wallow, or maybe just feel something sharp, because numb gets old after a while.

The first notes come on, all moody and raw, and I already know where the night's headed. Some people drown out their feelings with loud music or parties. Me? I let the sad songs crawl in and make themselves at home. Maybe that's messed up, or maybe that's just how you survive when everything feels like it's pressing in. One of those nights, I guess. The kind where you let the music do the bleeding for you, just to see if you can make it to morning in one piece.