Going 78 Miles Per Hour | ✓

08 | U-Turn

I hear the frustration rolling off my father's tongue, and I could sense the hurt he expresses as he sinks through all his words. I press my lips together, my vision begins to grow foggy. For some reason, I want to cry at his declaration, at the fact that I'm not doing anything.

I drop down onto my bottom, rubbing my eyes and wiping away any potential tears from emerging. I am strong, I remind myself, strong girls don't cry.

My dad told me that.

"¿Qué quieres que haga?" What do you want me to do? My mother croaks, her voice drowsy in almost-tears. "¿Qué quieres que le diga?" What do you want me to say?

"¡Le enseñaste todo esto! ¡Esto es tu culpa!" You taught her all this! This is your fault!

I look down at the floor, my eyes beginning to form tears even though I specifically told them not to. I wipe them down, repeating the chant I was taught as a toddler and remind myself: I am strong. I'm not weak. I don't cry.

My fingers tremble as I try to picture my hands steady. I stare at my hands in hopes of drowning down the tears, but to no avail.

My hands shake, my tears are threatening to spill and I am weak.

I slowly pick myself up from the spot, using the doorknob as assistance and walk over to my drawer. I don't think I can handle another one of their fights without breaking into a bawl, and I don't think I could hear the desperation in my father's voice before pointing to myself as the problem.

I'm not, right?

Right?

I take my phone off the bed, plugging the earbuds in, and I take the jacket off the hook before shrugging it onto my body.

The worst part of all this is somehow getting past them without breaking into a cry, without showing my emotions.

I inhale a deep breath, calming myself from crying and patting my cheeks in an attempt to bring blood flow. I clench my hands together, releasing, and repeating the process over and over again till I get a hold of my emotions.

Then, I move.

I throw open the door and I descend down the steps, not bidding a glance at either my mother or my father. I could see them from the corner of my vision, but I don't turn. I don't look back.

I pick up my pace as I grab the doorknob, twisting it and pulling it open. I'm greeted with a brisk breeze, and for a moment, I thought I did it.

"¡Mírala!" Look at her! I hear my father screams, just as I step out onto the porch and enter into the atmosphere. I regret the fact that I didn't turn on my music beforehand, but the deed was already done. I pick up my speed and walk.

Straight.

It wasn't long until my house was no longer in view, and my father no longer carries a voice to my ears. Though, it didn't stop my chest from choking and my heart from racing.

I trail my fingers up to my chest, laying it over my heart. I begin to pick up the familiar rhythm, the beats pressing against my ribcage and acknowledging three simple sounds.

One, two, three.

I suck in a breath.

I'm alive.

I drop my arms to my side as I fish out my phone from my pocket, pulling up to a playlist and pressing the button. The song Night Trouble by Petit Biscuit begins playing.

I reach the park soon enough, making the move towards my favorite bench. Just a couple steps, however, until I realize a familiar (and unwanted) body has already settled into the seat.

My mood was instantly soured, more so than before.

He glances up, seeing my approaching figure, before dropping his gaze to the cigarette, using the lighter to ignite a flame. He releases a puff.

I trail around him, taking the left side of the bench. I could instantly pick up the smell of Marlboro from here, turning to him with a disgusted look etched on my face. One he doesn't acknowledge.

"You know you're killing yourself with that," I declare, watching how he exhales another puff of nicotine-filled smoke. I wanted to pull my shirt up to hide the smell.

He chuckles lifelessly, and balances his hand on his knee. "Yeah, probably." He takes another drag, "but it's my life, isn't it? You don't gotta worry about me."

It's always that excuse. It's always the same excuse.

"No, it's not," I said adamantly, burning a hot gaze to the side of his face. This forces him to turn in surprise. "It's not just your life, it's the life around you too. Just because you think you're hurting yourself doesn't mean you aren't hurting other people too. It's not just you, it's me too."

It wasn't for him.

I didn't mean to snap at him.

I almost wanted to apologize; to say that those words weren't intended for his ears. It was for my father, the one who always turns a blind eye when I mention the harms of smoking nicotine. The one who doesn't listen to me.

His face drops, and suddenly, they faze into a break of anger. His brows pull together, his eyes inflame in heat, and he nearly looks like he wants to bite my head off.

"I'm not fucking hurting you, you decided to sit here. If it weren't for you, there's literally no one else that cares about me. If I live or die today or tomorrow, no one would care," he looks away from me, his gaze staring off to the distance. He takes another drag. "If I live or die, I would remain nameless as I am now."

I quiet.

I stare in the same direction he holds, trying to process his words. I don't want to think like that, having the idea that no one cares about me, but sometimes, it's hard not to.

I have my mom, but sometimes I don't.

I love her with all my heart, but sometimes, she gives a little bit of hers to him.

She's the only one I got left.

We hold a pace in silence, and neither of us offer another argument. His cigarette burns down to nothing more than a butt, and he drops it to the floor, crushing it with the heel of his shoe.

I hook both my legs onto the bench, my feet not touching the ground. I bury my nose into my knees, covering the smell from my scent.

The music is playing in my ear, and has long switched into another song; yet, it conveys the same emotions I felt before.

I mumble, almost inaudibly, "me too."

━━━━━

AVA'S NOTES

if anyone cares, there's a spotify playlist for this story. it impacts a big mood, and if you listen to it while you read, you could see the type of story this is leading to be. :)

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