Burnt Out

☆Parents☆

Ray

My parents were home.

There was no way I could run up the stairs without my parents noticing. There was no way I could avoid their questions. I don't even know why they bothered asking me questions. It's not like they actually care about me.

Sighing, I tried to mentally prepare myself to face my parents. How fucked up was that? It was absurd, really, that a child should have to brace themselves to face their own parents. Yet here I was, steeling myself against the very ones who were meant to provide solace and support. A child should never feel like this, especially because of their parents. 

I slowly walked further into the house, trying to delay the inevitable confrontation.

"Sweetheart! Come sit with your dad," my father's voice hollered from the couch.

I clenched my fists tightly and reluctantly made my way to him. He looked at me as I settled beside him.

"Where were you?" He asked disinterestedly.

"With a friend," I murmured.

My father's hand found its way to my shoulder, a gesture of concern that surprised me for a moment. "Is everything alright?" he inquired, his voice tinged with a rare display of warmth. In that fleeting moment, he seemed more like the father I longed for—a man capable of understanding and compassion. He could be nice when he wanted to, I guess. Sometimes he could be an okay dad.

I hesitated, staring at him blankly as uncertainty gnawed at my resolve. Should I tell in him, or should I retreat behind the familiar facade of 'I'm fine' like I always do?

"Dad... I haven't been doing well mentally," I finally admitted, the words heavy in the air.

For a brief instant, silence enveloped us, and I held my breath with anticipation but then he laughed—a dismissive, mocking sound that shattered the fragile hope I'd dared to nurture. I wish I coul take my words back. I wanted to slap myself for being so stupid.

"You're just being silly, sweetheart. You're absolutely fine," he declared, his tone dripping with condescension, each word like a daggger to my heart. 

In that moment, any semblance of hope that I had mustered up shattered, leaving behind only the cold, stark reality of my father's indifference. It was a familiar ache, one I had felt too many times before. How many times had I found myself in this exact situation, clinging to the hope that this time would be different?

I never learned my lesson did I? No matter how many times I faced disappointment, I still held onto that sliver of hope, foolishly believing that maybe, just maybe, things would change. Yet, each time ended in the same crushing realization.

I knew the script by heart, could recite it in my sleep. The manipulation, the dismissive laughter—they were all too familiar. And yet, despite knowing exactly how it would play out, I still allowed myself to fall into the trap, hoping against all reason for a different outcome. Deep down, I knew that things would never change and yet, against all logic, I still dared to hope. It was a cycle I couldn't seem to break.

"What are you two talking about?" my mom's sickeningly sweet voice sliced through the tension as she joined us.

"Oh, she was just telling me some nonsense about being depressed or something. Probably the internet's fault. Kids these days think they have problems," my father chuckled as if he was sharing a joke.

Anger flashed across my mother's face like a storm gathering on the horizon. I braced myself for the onslaught I knew was coming.

"You have nothing to be depressed about, young lady! You're just seeking for attention," she spat, her words like venom dripping from her tongue.

With a heavy heart, I rose from my seat and fled towards the staircase, desperate to escape from this situation.

"Don't you dare run away from me, you brat!" my mother's voice echoed behind me, fueling my determination to flee.

I climbed the stairs two at a time, the distance between us growing with each step. I could hear the faint voice of my father trying to comfort my mother. What the fuck did she need to be comforted for?

Reaching my room at last, I slammed the door shut behind me, shutting out the world and the pain it brought with it. Alone in the silence of my sanctuary, I allowed myself to crumble. I buried my face in my hands, the weight of my emotions threatening to overwhelm me. With each deep breath, I struggled to rein in the storm raging inside me. I felt anger surge through me. All this pain was slowly turning into anger.

I decided to take a shower to freshen up and clear my mind. Once I was done I threw on a random set of clothes and laid down on my bed.

The weight of my thoughts were pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. The incessant chatter of my mind was consuming. I need something to drown out the noise in my head.

The gym. Yes, that might do the trick. It had been too long since I last trained, too long since I had felt the familiar burn of exertion, the rush of endorphins flooding my system.

Scar has decided to close the gym for a bit since he's busy but he had entrusted me with a spare set of keys for moments like this—moments when I needed a sanctuary, a refuge from the chaos of my own mind.

With a sense of purpose stirring within me, I rose from my bed and retrieved the keys, the cool metal reassuring in my palm. With my gym bag slung over my shoulder, I descended the stairs cautiously. As I reached the bottom step, relief washed over me like a cool breeze—luck seemed to be on my side today. My parents were nowhere to be seen.

With a silent prayer of gratitude, I slipped out the door, breathing in the crisp air of freedom. Scar's gym was pretty close to my house so I decided to walk instead of taking my car. Not only that but if my parents discovered that I wasn't at home, it would only give them another excuse to give me shit.

The familiar sight of Scar's gym greeted me as I approached. With each step, I felt the weight of the world lift from my shoulders, replaced by a sense of anticipation for the respite that awaited me inside.

I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The familiarity of this place was comforting, grounding me in the present moment.

I flicked on the lights and set my gym bag aside. Without hesitation, I made my way towards the punching bag. This was a place where pain, frustration and anger could be channeled into something tangible, something controllable.

Stepping closer to the punching bag, I felt a sense of calm wash over me, a quiet confidence settling in my bones. In this sacred space, surrounded by the heavy thud of punching bags, I was free to be myself, free to let go of the burdens that weighed me down.

With a sense of purpose burning bright within me, I began to move—each jab, each hook, a release of pent-up energy. Here, I found not only physical strength, but a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness that threatened to consume me. As I threw blow after blow upon the punching bag, the sting of my split knuckles went unnoticed amidst the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins. 

As sweat cascaded down my body, a sudden wave of dizziness swept over me. I stumbled backwards, the world tilting precariously on its axis as black dots danced before my eyes. Reality blurred at the edges, fading into a murky haze as I sank to the ground. A dull ache settled in my stomach, reminding me that I hadn't eaten anything yet today.

The sound of approaching footsteps cut through the stillness of the gym. My senses sharpened, every nerve on edge as I strained to discern the source of the intrusion.

Could it be Jake?

The footsteps grew louder, closer, reverberating off the walls with an ominous intensity. Panic clawed at the edges of my consciousness.

I clenched my fist, preparing myself in case I needed to throw a punch.

As suddenly as they had appeared, the footsteps ceased, leaving behind a heavy silence that hung in the air. My muscles tensed, every instinct screaming at me to flee, to hide.

Before I could react, a voice shattered the silence, cutting through the darkness.