The perfect storm in a quiet room

Chapter 19

The vibration of my phone in the back pocket of my jeans wakes me up. What time is it?

Trying not to wake Casy up, I slowly move to the edge of the bed as I gently take off her head and arm of me. Once I'm on my feet, I pull my phone out of my pocket. It's my mom. What a surprise.

"Where the fuck are you?!?!" she screams out of her mind once I answer, which makes my eardrum rumble.

Confused, rubbing my eyes, I answer:

"What's wrong?" I honestly don't know what she means.

I move away from Casy—I don't want my mom's screams to wake her up.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?! Are you really asking that?" My mom screams again, while laughing, something that terrifies me.

"Mom, calm down."

"Hannah, where are you? Come home now! You can't just leave, there are rules here. Where the fuck are you? And don't tell me to calm down!"

I put the cell phone away from my ear—I don't think I can take her screams anymore.

"Mom, I'm at a... friend's house. We were... doing some work for school and I fell asleep. That's it," I lie as I pray for my mom to believe this. After all, I'm using the excuse I thought about earlier and I stayed over as Casy wanted me to. It wasn't my plan, but anyways... I hope she doesn't notice that I lied to her about "having to do stuff" at night, but this is not the right time to think about that.

She's silent for a few minutes while I'm sweating nervously. I hope she doesn't make a fuss when I get home, or ground me, or worse—don't let me go to school anymore, which would mean not being able to... see Casy.

"A friend? What friend? You don't have any frien—" she starts to say but quickly stops.

A punch in the chest, that's it. A punch in the chest is just what I feel when I hear my mother's words. From my dear, adored mother who is supposed to love me with all her fucking heart, but cares very little about speaking her mind at the expense of my feelings. My mother, who hides things from me about my father, who distances herself from me and now on top of that tells me these things that she knows hurt me as much as a stab in the stomach. Yeah, that's my mother.

"Hannah? Are you there?" she asks, without a trace of sorrow, guilt or concern in her voice.

I don't answer and end the call. I don't care if she calls me back thirty times and even looks all over town for me. I don't care if she punishes me for life or if she wants to keep me prisoner in the house for months, something that won't happen because I don't plan to go back there. Not after this. Not after hearing the most painful words in the world come out of the mouth of the person I thought was on my side. From the person I thought I could count on. From the person I thought loved me more than anyone From the person I thought would never do anything to hurt me. But now? Is my mom still that person? For me...not anymore. This was crossing the line. This...this was too much, even for my mom.

I sit on the floor leaning my back against the edge of the bed. I throw the phone on the floor and run my hands over my face. I notice my cheeks are wet and it takes me a second to realize I'm crying. Again. Damn feelings.

I take a tissue from my backpack and blow my nose and dry my tears trying not to make so much noise so as not to wake Casy. As I go about soaking the little tissue I wonder why. Why do I have to suffer so much? Why? Why I got such a shitty family and why I could never have a fucking friend to make my life easier? Maybe this is my destiny—and I have to accept that I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. It is what it is.

I pick myself up off the floor stifling my sobs as I grab my backpack and stare at Casy. She is the only thing that gives me hope that this, that my life, that my destiny can change. That I can have a friend...or maybe whatever...my feelings say. I shake my head. No, no and no. We're just going to be friends, it's what we both want to be... I think. Yeah, earlier when we were in bed together watching the movie I felt something weird, but... I know I don't want to feel it again.

I walk away from her and go to the door—I have to get out of here. But where am I going to go? I don't want to go to my mom's, obviously, and I don't have another relative or friend who can put me up in their house for a few days. So what do I do?

Maybe for tonight it's best to stay here... Yes, it's the best thing to do. Then I'll see where I go for the rest of the week... or month.

I look at her and smile. It's amazing how one person can change your life in such a short time. It's been two days since I met this girl and she already turned my world upside down. She made me fight with my mom, she made me lose my mind with questions and mysteries, she hit my back and my head and... she gave... hope, well, some hope. She's the closest thing to a friend I've ever had and it feels good to know that I have someone there, even though we barely know each other. But already knowing that someone is by your side and having the certainty that there is a person you can distract yourself and have a good time with—well, not always—, is something worthy.

I stare at her for a few more minutes and for a second all those horrible thoughts and feelings that invaded me for a moment, disappear. That hope I feel when I look at Casy fights to replace them and tries to make me feel better. Yes, there is no doubt about it—this girl is special and she is the cure for my illness.

I drop my backpack on the floor and lie down on the bed again. I blink a couple of times and my eyes feel a little sticky from the tears on my eyelids and eyelashes. I rub my eyes and grab my phone. I want to check it one last time before I fall asleep. 20 missed calls and 17 WhatsApp messages from my mom. Gosh, she's not going to stop. It's unbelievable that after what she told me she expects me to answer her like it's nothing. Doesn't she think that I might be angry and need time? Doesn't she think that I might be upset and that I might not feel like talking to her? Doesn't she know me at all? She never ceases to amaze me.

I turn off my cell phone and leave it on the bedside table. I don't want to think about my mom anymore—she's done enough. I close my eyes and force myself to sleep. 

That night I am going to dream of an absent father, who disappointed a little eight-year-old girl who is waiting for him with open arms, ready to play. The little girl cries and her mom hits her and yells at her. She runs and hides in a corner, sitting in a fetal position, trembling, trying to run away from her reality. In the corner, which is her refuge, appears at her side her salvation—her new friend. Curiously, this character in my dreams looks exactly like Casy.