Growing up in a large, middle-class (if not lower) family had its challenges. More than I can account for actually. I had five older sisters and two older brothers. Throw me into the mix and that's a grand total of eight children living under one ro...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
As I'm scurrying out of Noah's room, I manage to locate the exit with ease. However, before I throw the door open and make my great escape, I find myself skidding to a halt, eyes transfixed on a photo of the boy when he was younger mounted up on the wall. The imaginary jackhammer appears again, drilling holes the size of Jupiter into my skull without mercy. I shake my head, as if doing so would help me somehow, before I stagger outside. I don't know what's going on, but I'm determined to get to the bottom of this. And I know the perfect place to start.
After I find my way home, thanks to Google Maps and the public transportation system, I inhale deeply before I twist the doorknob. You can do this, Rory. My parents are both in the living room and my mom sends me a smile. "Where have you been, sweetheart?" She might have problems of her own, but my mom never fails to show me her unconditional love. At least, when she's home that is.
Most of the time, she's out and about, doing god knows what. I've never told her about all of the awful things my sisters would say to me because I know there's not much she could do about it. She's old now. I don't want to burden her with my issues. Besides, if she does say something to them, it would probably piss them off, giving them another reason to treat me like I'm nothing.
"I have a question," I breathe out calmly, "for the both of you." I step in front of my dad and he tears his eyes from the television screen and place them on me instead. "I was in an accident when I was 12, wasn't I?" I notice both of their eyes widening and that's the only confirmation I need to know that everything Noah told me is true.
I might be crazy for believing a guy, who claims we'd been good friends when I couldn't even remember him, but sometimes, you have to have blind-faith in a person. If we don't, the world would undoubtedly be a hopeless place where nobody could be trusted. I don't know about you, but that's not the kind of place I want to live in. "Why didn't you guys tell me?" I question.
"We didn't have a reason to," my dad answers.
I scoff, my head falling back for a quick second. "Are you kidding me? That's the best answer you could come up with?" I didn't mean to raise my voice at him, but the damage is already done.
Next, my dad stands up with a hardened expression plastered on his face. "You were the one running around, getting tangled up with the wrong crowd, Rory! All we were trying to do was protect you!" he shouts, the veins in his neck protruding out.
"Take a deep breath, Rory. Your dad and I thought we were doing what was best for you. That boy was no good for you. Let's calm down and talk about this in a civil manner," my mom urges as she tries to reach for my hand.
Violently, I yank away. "Protect me from what?" I yell, tears welling up in my eyes. "The only people I need protection from are the ones living under this roof!" My chest heaves up and down in ragged pattern as I attempt to keep the tears from falling. I can't cry. I refuse to. I've wasted enough tears because of these people already.
