A Safe Haven

03

The soft hum of the air conditioning was the only sound in the room, a background noise that usually made me feel at ease. But today, it only added to the tension building in my chest.

I was sprawled out on the couch, phone in hand, absently scrolling through Twitter. The glow of the screen reflected in my eyes, but I wasn't really paying attention to what I was seeing.

My mind kept wandering back to my first day at Beaconwood Academy, the weight of it pressing down on me in a way I hadn't anticipated.

"How's your first day of senior high, sweetie?" Mom's voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to the present. Her tone was light, almost casual, but there was an undercurrent to it that made my heart skip a beat. She was sitting at the dining table, fingers flying over the keyboard of her laptop, her eyes glued to the screen.

I glanced over at her, taking in the sight of her absorbed in work. She was always so busy, always focused on the next task, the next project, the next thing that needed to be done. It was rare for her to pause and ask me about my day, so the fact that she was doing so now made me a little uneasy.

I shifted my gaze back to my phone, hoping to appear nonchalant, as if I was just fine and dandy, and nothing about my day had fazed me. "It's fine, Mom," I said, my voice deliberately casual, as if my first day at a prestigious school like Beaconwood was just another day in my life.

For a moment, it seemed like that answer would suffice.

She didn't respond right away, and the rhythmic tapping of her fingers on the keys resumed, filling the silence between us.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, thinking maybe she was too engrossed in her work to probe further. But then, the tapping stopped. I glanced up just in time to see her close the laptop, the lid clicking shut with a kind of finality that made my pulse quicken.

She turned her full attention to me, her expression calm, almost too calm, in a way that sent a chill down my spine. "How did you introduce yourself?" she asked, her voice as smooth as silk but carrying an unmistakable edge. "I heard that our name spread in Beaconwood."

I froze, the blood draining from my face. Of course, she'd heard.

News like that doesn't take long to reach the ears of someone like my mom, who seemed to have her finger on the pulse of everything that happened within a hundred-mile radius.

I swallowed hard, trying to find the right words, but my mind was a jumble of thoughts. "Because our professor asked, Mom," I finally managed to say, though my voice sounded small, even to me. "We had to introduce ourselves, and I just... said my name, that's all."

Her gaze didn't waver, and for a moment, I felt like a little kid again, caught doing something I wasn't supposed to.

The calmness in her eyes was unnerving, like the stillness before a storm. "And that's all?" she repeated, her voice still calm, but there was no mistaking the steel underneath. "You just said your name, and that was it?"

I nodded, but I could tell she wasn't buying it. Mom had this way of seeing right through me, stripping away any pretense I tried to put up. I could feel the weight of her disappointment settling over me like a heavy blanket, suffocating in its intensity.

She took a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was tight, controlled, but I could hear the anger simmering just beneath the surface. "Leila, I don't think you understand the importance of what you say, or how you carry yourself. You may think that just saying your name is enough, but in a place like Beaconwood, your name carries weight. It represents not just you, but our entire family. Do you understand that"

My throat tightened, and I could feel my eyes start to sting with the beginnings of tears, but I forced them back. I wasn't going to cry, not now, not in front of her. "Yes, Mom," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

But she wasn't done. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. "When you introduce yourself, you're not just Leila. You're Leila Lavelle. That name means something. It carries a legacy, a reputation that you need to uphold. People will judge you based on that name, and if you're not careful, they'll judge our entire family. Do you want that kind of responsibility?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded, and I could feel the full weight of it pressing down on me. My heart pounded in my chest, and I could feel the tears threatening to spill over again. But I refused to let them. "No, Mom," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

She leaned back in her chair, her gaze still fixed on me, her expression unreadable. "I want you to think about that the next time you speak, Leila. Think about what your words mean, and how they reflect on us. You have a responsibility, not just to yourself, but to this family. Don't forget that."

I nodded, feeling like a scolded child. The room felt too small, too suffocating, and I wished I could disappear, or at least shrink into the cushions of the couch.

The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over, but I quickly wiped them away, hoping she didn't notice.

Mom didn't say anything else, just picked up her laptop and opened it again, the soft clicking of the keys resuming as if our conversation had never happened. But I could still feel the weight of her words pressing down on me, the sharp edge of her disappointment cutting deep.

I turned my gaze back to my phone, but the screen was blurry through my tears.

I didn't feel like scrolling through Twitter anymore, didn't feel like doing anything.

All I could think about was the weight of my name, the legacy I was supposed to carry, and how much I wished I could just be Leila-without all the expectations, without all the pressure. Just... Leila.

But that wasn't possible. Not in Beaconwood. Not in this family.

And as I sat there, feeling the full weight of my mother's anger-polite, calm, but unmistakably real, I realized that this was just the beginning. Senior high was going to be a lot harder than I'd thought, and not because of the classes or the workload.

It was the expectations that were going to crush me.

I managed to keep my composure hanggang sa makalabas ako ng living room. Sa sandaling nawala ako sa paningin ni Mom, naramdaman kong bumagsak ang aking mga balikat, ang bigat ng pag-uusap ay nakadiin sa akin.

Naglakad ako sa hallway, pakiramdam ko mas mabigat ang bawat hakbang kaysa sa huli, hanggang sa marating ko ang kwarto ko.

Paulit-ulit na nagreplay sa isipan ko ang mga salita ni Mom. Ito ay hindi lamang kung ano ang kanyang sinabi, ngunit kung paano niya ito sinabi- mahinahon ngunit sa pinagbabatayan ng galit na mas malalim kaysa kung sinigawan nya ako.