desertion

48

using my grammar skills now 🤘

The laughter from the living room felt like a distant echo. Chris and Carla were watching a movie and they asked me to join, but I told them I was tired.

I sat curled up on my bed, wrapped in a thick sweater, my knees pulled tight to my chest. My computer sits in front of me, my history program pulled up. I got caught up on it, I just have one more assignment to do and then I'll be caught up just like the rest of my classes.

The laughter coming from the living room pulls me back to my thoughts. Outside, the world was bright and lively, but inside, it was as if a heavy fog had settled over me, suffocating any spark of joy I might've had.

I glanced at my phone on my nightstand, its screen lighting up with notifications. Miles had called again, his name flashing across the screen like a reminder of my obligations. I wanted to answer, to tell him everything was okay, but the words caught in my throat. My friends had been blowing up our group chat, asking where I was and if I was alright. I felt the familiar weight of panic creeping in, tightening around my chest.

"I'm fine." I muttered under my breath, though even I didn't believe it.

The laughter from my brother and Carla grew louder, mixing with my anxiety until I felt like I might drown in it. I pulled at my hair, a nervous habit that had become all too familiar. Each tug brought a momentary distraction from the chaos in my mind, but it was fleeting. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I fought them back, not wanting to give in to the sadness that felt consuming.

"Lydia?" Carla's voice broke through, soft yet firm as she knocked on the door. "Can I come in?"

I didn't respond, hoping she would take the hint and leave me alone. But the door creaked open anyway, revealing Carla's concerned expression. She sat down in front of me on my bed, her eyes searching mine. "You okay?" She asked gently.

"Yeah." I lied, though my voice was shaky.

Carla's brow furrowed, and I could see the worry etched on her face. "You don't look okay. You haven't been eating much, and you're always wearing those oversized sweaters. You're hiding something, Lydia."

I clenched my fists, feeling a rush of anger and shame. "I'm just cold." I snapped, trying to deflect her concern. But deep down, I knew it was more than that.

As if sensing my resistance, Carla reached out to touch my arm, and I instinctively pulled away. "What's going on? You can talk to me, sweetheart." She urged, her voice gentle but insistent.

I felt my defenses crumbling. "It's just... everything feels too much right now. I don't want to talk about it."

But as I spoke, I could see her gaze drop to my wrist. The silence hung heavy between us, and in that moment, I felt completely exposed.

"Lydia..." Carla's voice trembled as she noticed the scars. "You need help. I'm really worried about you, honey."

"No!" I shot back, my heart racing as I felt ashamed and scared. "I don't need help. I can handle this on my own."

If I admitted I needed help, Carla would tell Dad and Dad would be disappointed or upset. I can't add to his struggles. There's too much going on right now.

"Can you?" She asked softly, her eyes filled with concern. "Because it doesn't seem like it. I think it's time to talk to your dad."

Panic surged through me. "No!" I cried, but it was too late. Carla had already pulled out her phone, her expression serious as she dialed the number.

I felt the walls closing in on me, the familiar sense of dread washing over me. Dad had just gotten off work and I could only imagine how tired he is. The thought of him worrying about me on top of that and everything else going on made my stomach turn.

A few moments later, Dad walked into the bedroom, still in his uniform. "What's going on?" He asked, his voice a mix of concern and fatigue.

"Lydia's been struggling, Eddie." Carla explained, her tone careful yet urgent. "She needs to see a therapist again."

My last therapist said I didn't need therapy anymore, that I seemed better so I stopped seeing him. Dad wanted me to get another one but I reassured him that I was really fine, even though I wasn't.

"No." I interjected, my voice rising in defiance. "I don't want to see anyone!"

"Lydia, this isn't just about you anymore." Dad says, his patience wearing thin. "I want you to get the help you need. I can't watch you hurt like this anymore, baby."

"I'm not hurting! I'm fine!" I shouted, feeling the anger and frustration boil over. Why can't I just admit it.

"You don't understand! I don't need a therapist; I just need you to leave me alone!"

His expression hardened, and I could see the hurt in his eyes.

Carla looked over at me, her facial expression shocked. "I'm making you an appointment, Lydia." Dad says before leaving the room.

Carla follows him, she starts saying something as she closes the door.

I look down at my lap, my body shaking as I sob.

I need help.