wait// joshler

2

word count: 350

i wake up and rub my eyes, a tad aggressive. the first thing i see, are the hot wheels on my book shelf, the ones i got for my seventh birthday. the year i realized mom doesn't really know me. 

i dress myself and then go downstairs for breakfast. mom's face is tense. i know this face. 

"the cancer is back," she replies, her face is drawn out. a way to lie without saying words. she's enjoying every second of this. 

"oh," is all i reply with. 

"the doctors think it might not go away this time."

"survival rate?" i ask, something i've asked since i was ten and found out what the word survival meant.

"eighteen percent. as always," dad replies, staring at his wife. 

"hm."

"i told you. you should've quit smoking. maybe you wouldn't be slowly dying in front of my eyes."

mom lets go of dad's hand. she's pissed, just as she always is when he brings up her addictions. 

"you shouldn't have given me such a hard time."

that statement is a lie. he gave her a 'hard time' when she'd come home late, never a call or text. me and dad would stay up til one am waiting for her to come home.

they lean away from each other, both their lips in a flat line. 

"don't you have that... game later today?" mom asks.

"football... you should know, kelly. you signed him up for it."

"that's.. tomorrow, mom." gentle words, i can't tell her she's wrong directly. she'd scream and say i'm making her day awful.

"oh..." she taps her chin, "that's right."

"i have to head off to school now."

"bye," she replies sharply, and rolls into the kitchen. 

"bye, ty-guy."

"bye dad," i smile weakly and leave the house. 

i hear them yelling at each other as soon as i shut the front door. they're going to divorce soon probably. they're only together because of me. but things have gotten worse in the last two years. it'll get worse before it gets better. i've been lying to myself for about  a year and a half now.

but it never gets better.

it only gets worse. 

a/n: i hope everyone has a good day

i love you