The things we never had

chapter 1

I didn't always hate my mom.

I used to think that if I changed enough—my looks, my attitude, anything—I could make her love me. I thought if I just tried harder, I'd get something, anything, from her. It feels pathetic when I think about it now. I was so desperate for something I'd never get. Sure, I had my brother, but it's not the same. I needed her love—the impossible, TV-version of a mother. You know, the kind who braids your hair or talks to you about boys. I never had that. It's kind of embarrassing how much I wanted it. The "mom issues" run deep. Then again, so do the "dad issues"—he didn't want me either.

But what can you do? You just... keep going. Pretend you're not falling apart, like everyone else isn't staring at the cracks in your armor. So, I grabbed my bag, shoved all of it—the hate, the need, the pain—deep down, and left the house. It's not like the thoughts ever really leave. They'll come back later, as they always do. I put my AirPods in, trying to drown out the noise in my head for a bit, trying to numb the hum of everything.

My phone buzzed. I looked at the message.

Chloe: When r u getting here? I'm so bored, these yr7s are annoying af.

Me: Lmao, soon. Don't kys.

Chloe: So close fr.

Chloe: Hurry tf up. I can't take it anymore.

I sighed and walked faster.

Me: Around the corner. Meet me.

Chloe: Alr, walking now.

She was waiting for me when I rounded the corner, looking like she hadn't a care in the world. I envied that. How she seemed to glide through life, like it didn't weigh on her the way it did on me. I often wondered how she did it—how she was just okay all the time. For me, everything felt heavy, like it took more effort just to breathe, to walk, to exist. Every step felt like dragging my feet through quicksand.

"Heyyyyy," she said, half-whispering, trying to sound casual.

"Hey," I mumbled back, managing a small smile. The smile felt strange, like it didn't belong on my face. Forced. Like a mask I'd learned to wear to keep people from asking questions I didn't have the energy to answer.

"How was your weekend?" I asked, though I didn't really care. It was just the usual—talking about meaningless things to fill the silence with noise.

"Shit. Had to babysit my siblings all weekend," she complained.

I chuckled, more out of habit than anything else. We bonded over our mutual hatred for family responsibilities. Trauma bonding.

"How was yours?" she asked, her eyes scanning me the way people do when they're pretending to care.

She was one of the few who knew how bad things were for me and my brother. No one else really asked. Not that I'd tell them if they did.

"Same old. Gym, bed."

It was true, though I didn't go to the gym because I wanted to. After what happened, I felt like I had to—like if I stayed strong enough, it wouldn't happen again. Like I could protect myself this time. If that was even possible. Sometimes, I thought maybe the gym was just another way to punish myself. Another way to bury the pain under layers of muscle and sweat, as if I could outrun the memories. But they always caught up.

We walked into school, headed straight to our usual table. We sat there with the others, making small talk, but I wasn't really listening. I hadn't cared about much of anything in a long time. I barely felt present half the time. It was like I was living in a fog, like everything around me was muted, muffled. I could hear people talking, but their words didn't really sink in. It was like I was trapped inside my own head, watching life happen around me, but not really part of it.