Burnt Out

☆Party☆

Ray

As I finished getting ready for the party tonight, my room's door swung open without warning. A sigh escaped me when I saw it was my mother entering. I braced myself for what was about to unfold—here we go again.

"This is all you do, huh? Always going out to parties and drinking," my mother screamed, her face turning a shade of red that seemed almost cartoonish, as if smoke would soon come out from her ears.

"Do you have any idea how much money I pay for your education? You should be studying right now!"

Ironically despite my disdain for school, I excelled in it. I was a straight-A student. Even as my mental health took a toll and my grades began to slip, I pushed myself to improve. It was a relentless pursuit, fueled by the fear of disappointing my parents. Yet, no matter how hard I tried, they were never satisfied. I was already achieving good grades, but it was never enough. They always wanted more. They were never proud of me.

As my mother continued her tirade, I attempted to block out her words, knowing that responding would only make things worse.

My fingers involuntarily dug into my skin as her shouting persisted.

"You're such an ungrateful brat. Your father and I gave you everything, but you still pretend to be depressed."

A lump formed in my throat, a familiar sensation that accompanied the pain her words inflicted. This wasn't the first time she'd hurled such things at me, but each time felt like a fresh wound. My heart seemed to ache physically, the impact of her words surpassing the pain of any cut I could inflict on myself.

A breath of relief escaped me as my mother finally exited my room, slamming the door shut behind her. Collapsing onto the bed, my breathing quickened. The room felt like it was closing in, my hand growing clammy, and my vision starting to blur.

Fuck

No, not right now.

My trembling hands fumbled to the bedside drawer, and I retrieved my pocket knife. It was a familiar ritual, a desperate attempt to numb the emotional turmoil within. Bringing the blade close to my thigh, next to the scars already etched there, I pressed it against my skin until a small droplet of blood emerged. The sense of control over the pain offered a twisted comfort, but before I could go any further, my phone began to ring, shattering the solitary moment.

I tossed my pocket knife back into the drawer, its glint disappearing among the shadows, and grabbed my phone. An unknown number flashed on the screen, a common occurrence since I rarely bothered to save anyone's contact number.

I answered the call. "I'm waiting for you outside," the voice on the other end declared before abruptly hanging up.

I used to have a car and even a driver, but his incessant reporting to my parents about my whereabouts became intolerable, so I fired him. It had took a lot of convincing for my parents to let me drive the car but then I got into a fucking car accident and they confiscated my car keys. Since I currently don't have a car someone else had to give me a ride.

Jessica was the one who was supposed to pick me up today, but that voice definitely belonged to a guy. It didn't surprise me that she had bailed. She'd take any opportunity to avoid me. Jake, my usual ride, was occupied with organizing the party and couldn't make it today.

I glanced in the mirror one last time, making sure I appeared presentable and not entirely dead, before heading outside to meet whoever was my ride for today. 

As I swung the car door open and settled into the seat, my mouth slightly ajar in shock, I had braced myself for the familiar faces of Ryder or maybe even Caleb since he was sweet and kind. However, the last person I expected to see was Hayden.

His presence caught me off guard, and for a moment, my mind struggled to process the unexpected situation. Caleb's words from earlier crossed my mind but I shoved them to the back of my head.

Hayden's gaze lingered on my face before he spoke, "You seem surprised." A flicker of realization crossed his features. "You don't have my contact saved, do you?"

It was a rhetorical question, and I bit the side of my cheek, opting for silence. Nervously, my eyes darted around, attempting to evade the awkwardness settling between us.

"You didn't recognize my voice," he remarked, a tinge of hurt apparent in his tone.

What the fuck?

I questioned my sanity at that moment. Hayden sounding hurt because I didn't recognize his voice? It seemed surreal. "Well, you don't speak that often," I fumbled to defend myself.

Did I sound like a hypocrite? After all, I, too, had grown silent over the years. When I was younger I used to talk a lot. People always used to laugh and say that I always had something to talk about. I don't know what exactly happened. I guess as I grew up I slowly stopped speaking once I realised that no one cared enough to listen.

He mumbled something along the lines of "I would have recognized your voice," but I couldn't be sure. After all he would never say something like that right? Especially to someone like me.

The remainder of the car ride to the party was silent. Surprisingly, this silence wasn't awkward; it felt strangely comfortable.

My gaze fixed on the passing scenery outside the window, attempting to ignore the subtle feeling of Hayden ocasionally looking at me. Instead of meeting his eyes, I directed my attention to my lap, where my hands fidgeted nervously. Shock washed over me as I noticed my dress had ridden up, revealing the scars on my thighs.

Panicking, I shot a quick glance at Hayden, relieved to find his focus straight ahead. Hastily, I adjusted my dress, creating more noise than I intended, yet he remained undisturbed.

As the car pulled up to the party, a sense of relief washed over me. The confined space was becoming suffocating, and I practically leaped out of the car, offering a hasty, "Thanks."

Walking toward the party, I felt an overwhelming readiness to drown my thoughts in the oblivion of alcohol.