Page 26 of 912321

“Yeah true, I guess my room won’t be that different.”

By the time we finish unpacking, both rooms actually look better. My clothes are folded away, my sketchbooks are stacked on the desk, the shell jar is perched high on it, and Hayzel managed to find a place to put Blue’s little house I bought so he can look out the window.

We sat on the floor with two instant noodle cups we picked up in town and two bottles of water. Blue ended up on my lap halfway through, already exhausted from exploring every corner.

It’s quiet in a good way.

Silence sometimes, makes you realize how tired you are, and how real tomorrow suddenly feels. Classes start in the morning, new schedule, new building, new people I’m supposed to learn to work with. I stroke the top of Blue’s head and lean back against the bed frame.

“I’m going back to my room, Rey. Try to get some sleep tonight, okay?”

She gives me a quick kiss on the cheek and pokes Blue’s nose before getting out.

“Have a good night, Hayzel.”

“Love you to purgatory and back.”

“To purgatory and back,” I reply as she disappears.

Tomorrow, everything begins.

11

Mireya

Past

Play - Half return by Adrienne Lenker

The Deepest Scar

I don’t know why my tummy hurts, but it hurts every time they scream, so I sit on the floor next to the couch, and I don’t move. If I stay small, maybe they can forget I’m here.

Mom’s eyes look shiny, she’s talking fast, and she’s trying to hide her face with her hair. Dad talks louder, his voice is raspy, and it always happens when he drinks a lot.

I don’t understand the words; it’s just a loud noise. Money, work, adult things.

My ears feel hot, and I hug my knees tighter when I hear Dad screaming about how he’s going to kill her if she keeps acting that way.

I don’t want him to do that.

My heart pounds in my ears like I ran for a while, but I was sitting the whole time. Dad hits the table with his hand, the glasses jump, and mom flinches because she got scared of the noise. “You’re going to stop acting like a fucking bitch and tell me why I found you passed out on the couch again.”

Mom was sleeping on the couch when I woke up. She told me, “Don’t wake me, okay?” so I didn’t. There were empty bottles on the floor, they’re always dad’s bottles, and he gets mad when people touch them. I shouldn’t have listened to her.

If I woke her up, maybe Dad wouldn’t be yelling now. I don’t know why they’re angry.

Maybe it’s also my fault because yesterday I spilled some juice on the rug.

Maybe dad saw that and got even more mad.

He grabs Mom’s arm, and her sleeve twists like a rope as she whispers, “Stop.” It’s so small I almost don’t hear her.

My legs stand up before I even think. “Stop it!” I shout.

He always hits her hard when he does this. The belt comes off sometimes. I remember the last time, the line on her arm and the one on my back. It still hurts her, just thinking about it.

I don’t want him to hit her with it again. I feel like if I do something, maybe it can stop him. And when I ask him to not hit her, everything stops.