Hidden Within

20 | last words

Devon texts me over the weekend, though I don't answer. I don't know what to say to her after running out of her house the way I did. I'm surprised she even bothers to reach out to me at all. However, I know there isn't a point in responding. Even if I didn't completely burn the bridge between us, I can't ever cross it. Not after what I went through. Not after everything the summer consisted of.

I hang out around the house, ignoring my mother to the best of my ability and pretending I don't notice when my father stares at me as if I am something broken in need of his fixing. Reagan, my sister, is pretty much the only person in the house who treats me even close to normal anymore; so I spend most of my time either with her or alone.

As of now, Reagan and I are walking our family dog, Daisy, around the neighborhood. Walking down the street, I find myself gazing at Sloane's old house. Even after all of this time and everything that has happened, part of me still misses her. I wish I could have at least gotten to tell her goodbye so I could now have some closure to hold on to.

Reagan must notice me staring at Sloane's house down the road because she suddenly asks, "Do you guys still talk?"

I glance down at my sister. The breeze blows faintly, tossing strands of blond hair into my face. I hold tightly to Daisy's leash as I tuck the unruly hair behind my ear and raise an eyebrow at Reagan.

"What do you mean?"

"The girl who lived there," Reagan clarifies. "Do you still talk to her? I mean, you two hung out all the time. You were always either at her house or had her over at ours."

My heart is heavy as I admit, "No. We don't."

"Oh." Reagan and I walk in silence for a few beats. The sun begins the process of setting, morphing the sky from a shade of deep blue to an orange haze. The warmth in the air sticks to my skin, wrapping around my body. This should feel comforting, though instead I feel as if a vice is holding onto me tightly.

"She came over, you know," Reagan tells me. "After you left for the summer."

This news piques my interest. Heart hammering, I question, "Really?" I try my best not to sound too inquisitive. "For what?"

"She said she wanted to tell you bye," Reagan continues, "because her family was moving. I told her you weren't home. So she gave me this note and said she figured you wouldn't be home and asked me if I could give it you when you came back. I let her know you wouldn't be home until summer was over, but I said I would give it to you. Mom caught me talking to her and came to the door and started screaming for her to leave. Then she took the note from me and read it before tossing it in the trash. Mom said her head was hurting and she needed to lay down for a little while. Why did Mom hate that girl so much, anyway? Did she do something?"

My vision blurs with oncoming tears. My hand shakes as I grip Daisy's leash. This information is a tough pill to swallow. I can't believe that Sloane had come to tell me bye and I missed my last chance to see her. Her last words to me were stolen by my own mother, gone into oblivion. I'll never know what her note said or what it was she wanted to tell me.

A tear falls from the corner of my eye, tracing a watery path down my cheek. I quickly wipe it away before Reagan can notice I'm crying.

"I don't know," I mumble. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

Reagan shrugs and falls silent at my side once again. As we turn onto another street, she speaks up. "Did you really spend the summer at Grandma's? Because I heard you rode on a plane. Grandma's house isn't far enough to need a plane."

"Is that what Mom told you?" I ask. My voice is hoarse, thick with the tears I'm trying so hard to hold back.

"Yeah. Why? Is it not true?"

"No, I wasn't at Grandma's," I admit softly. I know I probably shouldn't be saying this much to Reagan, in case word gets back to Mom. If she wants Reagan to think I was at our Grandma's, obviously I shouldn't be telling her otherwise. Yet I'm bitter, my anger at my mother for stealing Sloane's last words to me taking control of my tongue.

"Then where were you?" Reagan quizzes. "And why were you gone all summer? The house was boring without you. Especially when Maddie went on vacation."

"I had to take care of some . . . things," I say evasively. So badly I want to tell Reagan the truth. I want to talk to her about the ranch and the therapist. About the pills and the dark rooms that locked from the outside, trapping me within four walls that felt like a cage. I want to tell her about the prayers and the talks and the tears and the screams. However, even I can hardly stand to think about it all—and I lived through it. I doubt Reagan could handle hearing about it. It's easier to just block all of it out, to pretend it never happened.

"Like what?" Reagan presses. I can tell she is eager to know more.

"Different things," I reply. "How about we start heading home?"

___

a/n: this chapter is a little heavy for me, especially after having studied pieces of conversion therapy. as a member of the lgbtq+ community, i find it absolutely heart-wrenching that this sort of torture is still legal in various parts of the world. i can't wait to live in a society that doesn't judge others based on who they love or who they are.