White Noise

Prologue

I remember the first time I told myself that I was not going to be that girl.

I was seven years old, lying in bed in my room. It was mostly dark besides my dolphin night-light. My favorite teddy bear, Beary, had fallen off the bed, but I was too scared to get out from under my covers to retrieve it. As the minutes passed, the yelling downstairs turned into a jumble of screams. Even with the ends of my pillow curled up over my ears, my parents' voices echoed throughout the house like a fire alarm. I remember wishing, pretending, it was just a drill. But even at age seven, I knew all too well how real this was.

A sliver of light expanded on my floor as my door creaked open. A small silhouette of a young girl stood in the threshold and the hallway light reflected off of her wispy golden hair.

"Kate?" the meek voice of my six-year-old sister asked. "Can I come in?"

Patting the spot on my bed next to me, I responded routinely, "Come on."

She shut the door behind her, dulling the shouts of our parents, and curled up in her usual spot next to me. We both stayed silent for a good while, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on the ceiling of my room. When listening to the yells finally became too much, I whispered, "Are you okay?"

She didn't respond. Worried, I looked over at her just as she replied, "This is the third time this week."

"I know," I murmured dismally.

She glanced over at me, her green eyes glowing a little in the darkness. "Do you think it'll ever get better?"

Probably not. I can't remember a time when they actually seemed happy to be together. I don't think I've ever even seen them kiss. And even though Caroline was only a year younger than me, I still felt I couldn't be honest. I had to reassure her, take care of her, or at least try to salvage the fact that she still saw the world in a positive light. So I lied, "Of course it will. We're going to be alright."

The look on her face made me realize that this positive outlook was beginning to diminish. She was starting to see through my lies—everyone's lies. She was starting to see the world as it really was. Still, she scooted over and, even though we were the same size, coiled up into the crook of the small space between my arm and torso.

And as we lay there together, both flinching when the sound of a plate shattering shook the walls, I promised myself I would not be that girl. I would not be the girl who let a man walk all over her. I would not be the girl who did everything to please someone who, in return, did everything to make her miserable. I would not be the girl who was too weak to let go of a toxic person just because of love. I would not be the girl who, because of a man, lost herself.