Entering the group home, the sterile scent clawed at my throat. The door slammed behind me, cutting the last tie to stability. The cacophony of caged souls echoed off sterile walls, overwhelming senses still reeling from recent trauma.
A sea of unknown faces rushed past, each a closed door in a chaotic maelstrom. How could one navigate this riot and keep any semblance of self? I yearned for oblivion's embrace, where no edges or tides could further harm, but that escape was denied.
There would be no respite here, only survival against a constant assault. With leaden feet and vacant eyes, the shell of Emma walked into the unknown. No turning back, no surrender – only enduring and hoping for a faint light amid gathering storms.
Amidst the noise, a burst of color caught my attention - long ginger hair flowing like liquid flame.
She raced toward me, the carefree spirit of youth in her eyes. Stopping abruptly, she asked, "New?" with a hint of empathy, her features seemingly from a manga, not reality. It was a question, not an accusation, an open hand, not a clenched fist. In that moment, her openness touched a hollow part of me, longing to trust again.
Before I could reply, a caretaker appeared behind her, an authority figure. "Zahara! Stop bothering people and finish your homework," she scolded, with a stern look softened by exasperated affection.
As Zahara bounded off, the caretaker turned warm eyes on me. "Welcome to Moorefew. I know it's an adjustment."
Her kindness only amplified the raging turbulence within, and the words tumbled out sharply before thinking. "It's not my first home. I know how this goes."
She didn't flinch at my brittle tone. Her steady gaze said she'd encountered far worse and survived, empathy undimmed. "Alright. I'm Noel. Come on, let me show you to your room."
She turned with practised grace, gifting space without judgement or condemnation. No demands, no prodding at wounds barely scabbed.
My stubborn pride warred with aching gratitude as I trailed behind, keeping a calculated distance.
Noel turned a brass knob and pushed open the door, revealing a sparse room holding three beds. I barely registered her words as she spoke.
"You'll be sharing with Charlie and Zahara. You met Zahara, Charlie's out now but you'll meet her later."
Her voice washed over me, disembodied and distant. I didn't care about roommates or meetings or any of the usual obligations. My feet carried me mechanically to the lone free bed, where I sank amid a haze.
What did any of it matter - names, faces, particulars? I was so tired of strangers, temporary havens, packing and moving on when the cracks showed through. Nothing was meant to last; all simply faded or got torn away in the end. Some deep numbness had taken root, muting sensation and thought alike to dull gray static.
Noel's voice faded, then footsteps retreating as she left me to the silence. Alone again, wrapped in blessed nothingness as the torrents finally ceased their endless assault. For now, this blank void was a refuge in itself - if I didn't feel or care or hope, then nothing more could hurt me either.
No sooner had Noel departed than a familiar whirlwind burst through the doorway in a flurry of flaming hair and restless energy. Zahara bombarded me with a rapid-fire round of questions, curiosity barely contained.
"What's your name? How old are you? You're really pretty. Why are here? What grade are you in? Do you have any siblings?" The dizzying volley washed over my fraying composure, leaving no room to respond before the next query came hurtling in.
YOU ARE READING
Masks Always Fall
RomansaA war between the mind and heart. Emma did her best to fade into the background, avoiding attention at all costs. As a foster kid still scarred by her homophobic parents' abuse, confrontation terrified her. She played the part of the perfect studen...
