believe me // the black phone

chapter three

As Sydney approached her house, she tried to make as little noise as possible, hoping to slip in unnoticed. Her heart raced, anxiety weighing heavily on her chest. The moment she stepped through the door, though, the hope vanished. Her mother was already there, sitting in the dimly lit living room, her cold, icy stare locking onto Sydney like a predator spotting prey.

"Where the hell have you been?" her mother demanded, her voice simmering with barely contained fury.

Sydney swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "School... I was tutoring a friend," she said quickly, hoping the excuse would be enough as she attempted to move past her mother.

But her mother wasn't having it. "Tutoring a friend? Do you really think I'm that stupid?" she spat, grabbing Sydney by the arm, stopping her in her tracks. "Where do you think you're going? You waltz in here two hours late, feed me some pathetic lie, and expect me to just let you walk to your room?"

"I'm telling the truth, Mom!" Sydney shot back, her voice rising defensively. But before she could react, her mother's hand flew across her face, leaving a burning sting on her cheek. Sydney gasped, her hand instinctively reaching up to soothe the pain.

"You're not fooling me," her mother sneered, her words slurring slightly, the alcohol evident in her breath. "I know what you've really been up to—sneaking around with boys, acting like a little slut!"

Sydney's eyes widened in shock. "That's not true! You don't know what you're talking about! You're drunk!" she shouted, her voice thick with frustration and hurt.

But that only fueled her mother's rage. The second slap came harder, followed by another, then another. Each strike was accompanied by a barrage of cruel, venomous words that tore into Sydney like shards of glass.

"You ungrateful little whore!" her mother screamed, punctuating each insult with a blow. Sydney felt herself crumbling under the assault, tears spilling down her face as she tried to shield herself from the hits, her body trembling with fear and pain.

Finally, as if tiring of her own rage, her mother stopped. With a huff, she stormed off, collapsing back onto the couch as though nothing had happened, her attention drifting back to the half-empty bottle on the table.

Sydney remained on the floor, tears staining her cheeks, her whole body aching. For a few long, silent moments, she didn't move, her chest heaving with quiet sobs. Then, slowly, she forced herself up, her legs shaky beneath her. Without a word, she made her way to her room, closing the door softly behind her as if any noise might provoke another outburst.

Inside her room, she collapsed onto her bed, her tear-soaked face buried in her pillow. She clutched it tightly, trying to stifle her sobs, wishing for the pain, both physical and emotional, to fade. But deep down, she knew the scars from tonight would stay with her far longer than the bruises.

Sydney couldn't live like this anymore. The constant fear, the bruises that marked more than just her skin, and the harsh words that echoed in her mind—she was tired of it all. Every day with her mother felt like a battle, and she had finally decided enough was enough. The only way to survive was to leave, to find a place where she wouldn't have to tiptoe around, bracing for the next blow.

      Her hands trembled as she grabbed a suitcase from under her bed, and with quiet determination, she began packing. A few clothes, her favorite books, and small personal belongings that still carried some meaning in her fractured world. When she was done, she zipped the suitcase and tucked it away in the back of her closet, hidden for now, but ready when the time came.

      Sitting down at her desk, she pulled out a piece of paper. Her chest tightened as she picked up a pen, her mind racing with everything she wanted to say but never had the courage to voice. Now, this would be her final word.

Mom,

      I can't stay here anymore. I can't live in fear every day, wondering when the next slap will come or what words you'll throw at me to break me down. You don't see me, you only see what you hate about yourself. And I can't be your punching bag any longer.

      I know you're hurting. Maybe you don't even realize what you're doing half the time. But that doesn't make it okay. It's not okay for you to hit me, call me names, or accuse me of things I've never done. I'm not the person you think I am.

      I've tried to love you, even when you didn't show me love back. I've tried to be the daughter you wanted, but nothing is ever enough for you. I can't keep trying when all it does is hurt.

      By the time you read this, I'll be gone. I don't know where yet, but anywhere is better than here. I need to find a place where I can be safe, where I can breathe without fear. Maybe one day you'll understand why I had to leave. Maybe one day you'll change. But for now, I have to take care of myself, because I can't keep living like this.

      Goodbye, Mom. I hope you find peace, but I can't stay here waiting for it.

Sydney

      She stared at the letter, tears welling in her eyes as she folded it neatly and hid it in the drawer in her vanity.