Lilith

Unfiltered Truth

Sitting there, with all eyes on me, felt like being under a spotlight with nowhere to hide. I could feel Marco's stare drilling into me, those judgement-laden glances he kept throwing my way. Seriously, as if his disapproval was supposed to make me quake in my boots-yeah, right.

I was done-done with the tiptoeing, the half-truths, and the silent treatments. They wanted answers, fine. I'd give them the whole rundown of the night. Not the PG version, but the raw, unfiltered story. The club scene, the creep who couldn't take a hint, and the moment the guard had to step in and play hero.

I spilled it all, not holding back. Because what was the point? It's not like they were ever truly in my corner. If they were, maybe my past wouldn't be such a mess of unanswered questions and missed connections.

Telling them felt like ripping off a bandaid. Sure, it stung, revealing parts of myself I'd rather keep hidden. But it also felt freeing, like I was finally taking control of my narrative. And Marco, with his critical eyes and that ever-present scowl? Let him think what he wants. I'm past caring.

Because at the end of the day, their opinions won't change my story. They weren't there when I needed them, so why should their judgements matter now? I'm just here to lay my cards on the table, not to seek their approval. And if they can't handle that? Well, that's on them.

I stood up, my chair scraping back against the floor, the sound sharp in the tense silence. "If that's all y'all wanted to know, I'm going," I announced, already feeling the weight of the room pressing in on me. I wasn't asking for permission; I was stating a fact, ready to escape the suffocating atmosphere.

As I turned to leave, Marco's voice stopped me cold. "Where are you going?" he asked, that annoying smirk audible in his tone.

"Why the fuck do you care?" I shot back, my patience wearing thin.

"Just making sure you don't kill anyone else on your way out," he replied, the smirk now evident in his voice, pushing my buttons like he always did.

Sal, ever the peacemaker, tried to intervene, but Marco was on a roll. He slammed his hand on the table, making me flinch, and then he dropped the bomb. "What, y'all didn't tell her that she's the reason Mom's not alive? Because she died giving birth to her. If it wasn't because of you, I'd still have my mother."

His words cut through the room like a knife, but I refused to let them slice through me. My face remained impassive, a mask hiding any trace of pain. He wanted to hurt me, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"You seem to have forgotten she was my mother too," I responded, my voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil inside. "Also, blaming a child for their mother's death is so childish of you. Let's be honest, that could happen to anybody. You're just unlucky, and life isn't fair. Throwing dirty glances and tantrums like a five-year-old isn't going to bring her back."

The room fell into an uneasy silence, everyone processing my words. Marco looked like he wanted to argue, his mouth opening then closing, deciding against it. Maybe my words hit closer to home than he cared to admit.

Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked out, leaving the stifling atmosphere of the house behind. The fresh air outside felt like a balm to my soul. I whistled for Spike, who came bounding over, his presence a comforting constant in my chaotic world. Together, we walked around the estate, the silence between us more comforting than any conversation inside that house could ever be.

Talking to Spike always felt like the easiest thing in the world. There was no judgment, no hidden agendas, just pure, unconditional love. As we strolled around the estate, the expansive grounds reminded me just how far from everything I felt, despite the physical proximity to my so-called family. "You know, Spike," I mused aloud, watching his ears perk up at the sound of my voice, "I think we might have been better off if we stayed in England. Sure, we were alone, but at least there was no drama."

We found our way to a serene lake, bordered by a quaint gazebo. It was picturesque, the kind of scene that would have made for a perfect painting. As I settled into the gazebo, Spike, ever the adventurer, didn't hesitate to jump into the water. He emerged with a stick, eyes glinting with the challenge as he dropped it at my feet, urging me to throw it. This simple game of fetch, the sun setting in the background, felt like a peaceful escape from the tumult of my life.

Spending the afternoon with Spike, I was reminded of the day I found him. He was just a stray back then, his mother killed by some cruel kids who decided it would be fun to throw rocks at him. The moment I saw him, something in me snapped. I couldn't just stand by and watch. Shielding him with my body, I hugged him close, feeling the rocks hit my back, but not caring. The pain was worth it if it meant protecting him.

I came home bloodied that day, a smile of relief on my face because I had saved him. My parents-well, they're not really my parents, are they? They showed no concern for my injuries or asked why I was hurt. They simply ignored it, as they did most things about me. But it didn't matter. I had Spike now, and he became my family, the only one I felt truly cared for me.

Sitting by the lake, watching Spike dive in and out of the water, I couldn't help but feel grateful for his companionship. In him, I found loyalty, love, and a silent understanding that no human had ever offered me. No matter where life took us, or how much drama unfolded around us, I knew we'd always have each other. And in that moment, that was all I needed to feel at home.