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The night air enveloped me like a heavy cloak as I stumbled up the driveway, the familiar crunch of gravel beneath my feet drowned out by the pounding of my heart, my high-heels dangling by the tips of my fingers. My mind swirled with a dizzying mix of emotions, the alcohol coursing through my veins dulling my senses and blurring my thoughts.
I never considered myself much of a drinker. Tonight, with Sharonda, I didn't plan on going overboard. It was supposed to be about feeling free, shedding the weight of my worries, but somehow, I ended up feeling worse than ever.
Thoughts of Ryan and the crash plagued my mind, each memory a hammer pounding against my skull. I tried to push those thoughts away, to drown them out with alcohol, but they persisted, haunting me like ghosts in the night.
My mind was a fog, refusing to let me piece together the events of the night. All I wanted was to forget, to bury myself in sleep and hope that when I woke up, everything would be different.
The silence of this affluent neighborhood was unsettling.
It's always so quiet, too quiet, like a ghost town. I've never felt like I belonged here, always yearning for something more, something beyond these pristine streets and manicured lawns. Ryan was my escape, my ticket to something wild and unpredictable.
Sure, he wasn't the best influence, but he was fun, and in a world where everything felt suffocatingly dull, fun was all I craved. As for alcohol, well, I've dabbled, but other substances? I'd rather not dwell on that now. It's a slippery slope, one I'm not eager to slide down again.
As I reached the front door, my hand trembled as I fumbled for the keys, the metallic jangle echoing in the creepily silent night. With a shaky breath, I pushed open the door and stepped into the dimly lit foyer, the soft glow of the chandelier casting long shadows against the high walls while the rest of the place was dark.
My mom should be asleep.
Each step felt like a battle against gravity, my body weighed down by the weight of my intoxication. The hallway stretched out before me like a dark abyss, the sound of my own footsteps against the shockingly cold marble floors, echoing in the stillness of the house.
As I approached the dining room, a knot formed in the pit of my stomach, the sight of my mother seated at the table sending a chill down my spine. Her figure was shrouded in darkness, the only illumination coming from the flickering candlelight that danced across her face.
For a moment, I hesitated in the doorway, my heart pounding in my chest as I debated whether to turn and flee. But something compelled me forward, a strange mixture of fear and curiosity urging me to confront the woman who had raised me.
