Delta

viii. she will be loved

{ picture: sleepy hayden; song: she will be loved by maroon 5, because I had to }

February 14th was known as many different things to many different people. For some, it was Valentine's Day, AKA World PDA Day, the day where everyone in a relationship flaunted their coupley-ness and single people felt like crap. To some, it was the day before the candy went on sale. But to my mom, it was her and my father's anniversary.

Every year on that day (and on the anniversary of my father leaving), my mom would get off-her-face drunk, yelling and screaming and swearing and breaking things. I learned the hard way that if I went near my mother on these occasions, I would get sworn at, insulted, cussed out and occasionally slapped. Needless to say, I learned pretty quickly to just stay out of her way and try to drown out the noise as best as possible.

The day was almost bearable until I'd gotten home. I'd spent a large percentage of my time with Hayden and Carson, and they'd done their best to help me laugh off my poor excuses for Valentines: pieces of paper with insults, slurs, comments on my body and a couple requests for sex (seriously, one read, hey, wanna be my Valentine so I can bang you all night? I think not). I'd been over to Hayden's house a few more times since the first time a couple weeks ago, and the volleyball team—even Nick, which was a miracle in and of itself—was starting to warm up to me. I thought it was because Nick had finally realized I was telling the truth, but hey, for all I know, it could have been my awesome volleyball skills.

But home was a completely different story. I'd known it would happen; hell, I'd had dinner at four and brought all the necessities up to my room shortly after, knowing I wouldn't be able to leave once my mom got home. Yet this was worse than I'd imagined; even turning up the volume to an ear-splitting level didn't fully drown out the sounds from below. I spent hours waiting for her to calm down, finishing off homework, listening through my entire music library, doodling on the plain white walls (there was a butterfly over the grimy mirror I'd started two weeks ago but hadn't finished). But by the time the clock struck ten, I couldn't do it anymore. I'd had enough of listening to my mom break things and scream curse words, and without really thinking about it, I called Hayden.

My crappy cell phone trembled in my hand as I dialed his number and put it up to my ear. The dial tone did nothing to mask the sobbing, cursing, and heartbreaking screams coming from downstairs, and certainly did nothing to ease my nerves.

He picked up less than three rings later, sounding a little too eager for his own good. "Hey," he said excitedly, and I automatically smiled; I could picture him sitting on his bed with a wide smile plastered across his face, looking as adorable as a newborn puppy.

Downstairs, my mom screamed loudly, and beneath that was the sound of glass shattering. "Uh, are you okay?" Hayden asked confusedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I said quickly. "Just my mom. She's, uh, having a bad day. So what's up?"

"You're calling me at precisely ten-oh-four to ask me, 'what's up?' while your mother is screaming bloody murder?"

"Uh, yeah," I said, wondering how to word this. "I mean, not really. I mean, just—uh, my mom is drunk again, and like... it's totally okay if you say no, but can I, uh, stay at your house tonight maybe? You really don't have to say yes." Oh my God. I was babbling like I was as drunk as my mom. This was embarrassing.

"Sure," he said softly, and my heart fluttered stupidly with hope. "I'd love for you to come over."

"Really?" I asked, just as hopefully as I felt.

"Really," he reaffirmed, chuckling. "It's no problem. I'd much rather you be here then there right now, anyways."

"Okay," I agreed, feeling way too giddy for my own good. A night without the soundtrack of my mom's misery was more than I could have ever asked for.