Its following me

Wake up

I wake up. It's the same surroundings: the door still locked, confetti still scattered, and I'm still lying on my bed. I feel sick.

I should have started my history essay instead of procrastinating. But then again, why do I even study at all? I know I'm supposed to pursue a higher degree, but do I really want to?

I don't want anything. Nothing really matters. My mother already told me I will study my degree virtually, then get a remote job. What difference would it make whether I study or not? My living conditions won't change.

I'll never leave this house—

...

The front door opens.

My parents must be here.

I unlock my door and head downstairs. As expected, they're setting groceries on the table, and to my surprise, they've brought Chipotle.

I am more than happy.

Smiling, I skip over to them.

"Should I help you put this away?"

"Yes. Put the salmon in the refrigerator, in the lower drawer. Don't put it in the bottom, like you did last time," my mother's tone carries a thinly veiled threat.

My father, indifferent, has already flopped onto the couch and turned on the football game. I wonder how long he'll last there before my mother kicks him off and puts on one of the Turkish telenovelas she loves.

I glance at the bowl that I assume is for me.

I walk towards the bean-filled scent, but my mother grabs my arm, nails digging into my skin, and pulls me away.

"First, take this to the trash," she points at a bowl of expired soup hidden in the back of the refrigerator.

So I do as I'm told and head outside.

A rush of wind hits my face.

It's a relief to be outside.

It's night, the only light illuminating the streets is from the high lanterns.

The gravel crunches beneath my feet. It's so peaceful here.

But it's dangerous.

I'm alone, and I'm outside.

I quicken my pace.