Dear Diary | ✓

Unspoken

Dear Mama,

I woke up to the sound of him yelling, his voice tearing through the quiet like a knife. At first, I thought I was dreaming, but then the door slammed open, and he was there, his shadow filling the room, making it feel even smaller than it already is. My heart started racing before I was even fully awake, that cold dread sinking in as I realized what was happening.

"Get up!" he barked, his voice rough, edged with something sharper than usual. "Get up now!"

I didn't move fast enough. He was on me in a second, yanking the covers off the bed and grabbing my arm, pulling me up so hard I nearly fell. My head was spinning, the room tilting as I tried to make sense of what was happening, why he was so angry this time.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he shouted, his face inches from mine, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol. I could see the wild look in his eyes, that look that told me he was past the point of reason. "School just called. You haven't been there in over a week? What the hell have you been doing?"

My stomach dropped, and I felt the blood drain from my face. I hadn't thought about school calling, hadn't thought about how he would react if he found out I'd been skipping. I tried to pull away, to say something, anything, but the words caught in my throat, tangled up with the fear choking me.

He didn't wait for an answer. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my arm, and then he was dragging me out of the room, out into the hallway. I stumbled, trying to keep up, trying to stop the panic rising in my chest. My mind was a blur, half-asleep and full of terror, trying to piece together what I could say, what I could do to make this stop.

But there was nothing. No excuse, no lie, nothing that would make him stop.

He threw me against the wall, the impact sending a jolt of pain through my shoulder. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded, his voice lower now, more dangerous. I could see the vein throbbing in his neck, the way his hands were shaking with barely controlled rage.

I opened my mouth to speak, but all that came out was a broken, stammering sound. I could feel the tears starting to well up, but I bit them back, knowing it would only make things worse. I tried to think of something, tried to remember the words I'd been practicing in my head, but it was too late.

He didn't want an explanation. He didn't care where I'd been. All he cared about was the fact that I hadn't been where I was supposed to be, that I'd disobeyed him, that I'd made him look bad. And that was enough.

His hand came down across my face, the slap so hard it sent me reeling, my head snapping to the side. The pain was sharp, immediate, like a flash of lightning. Before I could even recover, he hit me again, harder this time, and I tasted blood.

"You think you can just do whatever you want?" he spat, his voice a harsh whisper now. "You think you can just skip school and smoke and lie to me? You worthless little—"

Another hit, this one to my ribs, doubling me over as the air rushed out of my lungs. I crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath, my whole body throbbing with pain. He kicked me, hard, in the stomach, and I curled up, trying to protect myself, trying to make myself as small as possible.

I don't know how long it lasted. It felt like forever, each blow blurring into the next, the pain blurring everything into one endless moment of fear and helplessness. I could hear him yelling, but the words didn't make sense anymore, just a jumble of sound and fury that washed over me, numbing my mind to everything but the pain.

When he finally stopped, when the blows finally ceased, I lay there, curled up on the floor, too afraid to move. He stood over me, breathing hard, his fists still clenched, like he was deciding whether to keep going. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving me there, broken and trembling, in the cold, empty hallway.

I don't know how long I stayed there, just trying to breathe, trying to gather the pieces of myself back together. My face throbbed, my ribs ached, and every movement sent fresh waves of pain through me. But eventually, I forced myself up, using the wall to steady myself as I stumbled back to my room.

I locked the door behind me, not that it would keep him out if he decided to come back, but it was something, some small barrier between me and the rest of the world. I collapsed onto the bed, every part of me aching, and for a long time, I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, trying not to cry.

My mind kept going back to last night, to the taste of smoke and the feel of Ava's eyes on me, that cold, detached look that made me feel like I was disappearing. I thought about how easy it was to slip away, to lose myself in the numbness, in the nothingness that smoking brought. I thought about how Ava made it seem like nothing mattered, like we could just drift through life, untouchable, unfeeling.

But now, lying here, bruised and broken, I realized that nothing could be further from the truth. Everything mattered. Every choice, every action, every lie—it all mattered. And it all came back to me, crashing down like a wave, too big to outrun, too powerful to resist.

I can't keep doing this. I can't keep hiding, can't keep pretending that none of this is real, that it doesn't hurt. But I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to change. I don't know how to do anything but survive.

I think about Ava, about how she would laugh if she knew how weak I feel right now. How she would tell me to suck it up, to keep going, to keep smoking, to keep feeling nothing. I think about how she's right, in a way. How it's easier to feel nothing than to face the pain, the fear, the hopelessness.

But I don't know if I can keep following her down that path, down into that emptiness. I don't know if I can keep pretending that I'm okay when everything inside me is screaming that I'm not.

I'm scared. Scared of him, scared of Ava, scared of myself. Scared of what will happen if I keep going down this road, and scared of what will happen if I stop.

I don't know what to do. But right now, all I can think about is getting through tonight, getting through tomorrow, and hoping that maybe, somehow, things will be different.

But deep down, I know they won't.

Mama how did you ever fall in love with someone like him? Why did you make me leave papa?

I suppose I'll never get an answer.

Goodnight, Mama

Me