Daytona Baby [N.H]

54

6 months earlier

Olivia Campbell

I don't even want to think about it.

I refuse to acknowledge the sharp pain in my head or the knots in my stomach. I can't even feel the heartbeat in my chest but that's most likely because I left it in an apartment in San Francisco.

The first thing I did when I left was go straight to a gas station to purchase cigarettes. I couldn't remember the last time I had felt the smoke in my lungs, though I've been so happy recently I haven't even thought about it. Why would anyone be addicted to cigarettes if the one you loved claimed to have loved you back? However, that was yesterday. Today, I'm a chainsmoker.

The second thing I did was head to the airport. I was running on auto-pilot; pure survival instincts now. The anger must have taken control of my body because I wasn't even sad. That is, until I was on the plane, watching out the window as San Francisco faded away. If it wasn't for the Sudoku book I bought prior to my flight I would've been forced to think about the thing. I couldn't even call it what it was. It was just a thing.

The five hour flight went by too soon for my liking because I knew as soon as I was back on solid ground I'd have to deal with the mess called my life. By the time I was in the back of the taxi cab the regret had sunk in. This past month I've thrown everything I've worked for away. I got kicked out of school; yes, it was shitty, but did that mean I really had nothing left? Did I really need to uproot my life and go tour with a band I wasn't a part of? That I didn't work for? In hindsight I didn't gain anything from that but a broken heart. My parents were right. About everything. Even though it's embarrassing to admit, I'm ready to do it. I have no other choice but to run back to them with my tail between my legs.

When the cab stopped outside my childhood home, I hesitated for multiple beats. Paying the driver the hefty cab fair, I reluctantly let my feet take me to the front of the house. This doesn't feel like home anymore; I had to knock on my own front door hoping that someone was there.

When my dad opened the door I couldn't make out his expression. While he looked shocked, he didn't seem surprised. There was no smile, no excitement, no greeting. He stepped back from the door and allowed me to come in. Allowed. This wasn't home anymore.

That became even more evident when my mom walked around the corner, arms crossed and almost a smug look on her face. I can't remember what she said to me, but it wasn't good. There was no unconditional love that most parents claim to have. After they lectured me about all the mistakes I've made, they made it clear to me that I had lost my chance. They tried to extend a helping hand weeks ago and I turned it down. I needed to learn things the hard way, they stated. I was left to single handedly clean up the mess I made. The only thing I clearly remember them saying is that I was cut off. They slammed the door in my face and I was left to wonder if they ever truly loved me for who I was and not just because I was their kid⁠—because they had to.

I remember hesitating at the end of the driveway as I took in what I used to consider my safe space. For twenty-one years I knew I could always go back home. I knew I always had a support system. Despite the arguments with my parents that were a result of growing up, I always thought they had my back. When I was younger I remember asking them if they ever wanted to have another kid, and they said they didn't because I had given them everything they've ever wanted. They were proud of me back then. Now, I'm almost certain their answer would be different. They might live the rest of their lives wishing they had another kid. A lot of times people will say things they don't truly mean in the heat of an argument but something about this felt final. Like they had already made up their minds before they even knew I was back in North Carolina.