Underwater. ||h.s.||

chapter one.

"Calum...it'll be a special day for me. You already knew how this day would come, as it had for three years now."

His eyes disappeared behind thick shades as he zipped his jumper over his chest. I watched him intently as he chewed his bottom lip. He was angry, I knew he was, but I chose not to confront it. 

His mouth opened to speak, but only a sigh tumbled out. I crossed my arms, nervously awaiting how the next few seconds of our argument would play out. 

"You just had to push me away, huh? For three years, I haven't spent any real time with you, but you've pushed me too far away this time, Erin," he uttered.

"I just don't think that we should spend that time together. It's my birthday and whatever, but I just want to spend it at home or—or go with Rory."

Just as my best friend's name slipped from my mouth, Calum removed his glasses and thrashed them on the couch cushion next to him. His breathing became harsher as though he was ready to bellow from the depths of his diaphragm. I swallowed equally as callous.

"You're spending your birthday with her and not me. I should have known."

"Wait, it's not like that—"

"If you love her so much, Erin, why don't you ask her to be your boyfriend 'cause I can't do this anymore." He grabbed his keys and glasses, shaking his head furiously. I didn't think that what I said had harmed his ego so much, but it bruised it pretty badly. In a span of three years, this had to be his hundredth time walking out on me after an argument that didn't go his way.

Before closing the door, he breathed, "I don't know why you're so afraid of me, but one day, you'll find out that your fears are all in your mind. I'm a really nice guy. You just can't see that yet."

______________________

The Next Day.

Hours before my 22nd birthday, I threw my hair into a manageable ponytail before settling comfortably into my queen-sized comforter. I ate pineapple frozen yogurt with graham crackers for a topping, and seriously, if you think anything is more disgusting, you are wrong, my friend. I found it delicious because of its bitter/tart taste, and it just happened to be my favorite snack, but it was 

g r o s s.

Sans bra and socks, I got really cozy upon watching a documentary about the human brain. It talked about how the brain identifying itself is actually a trick of its own and how, even by watching the documentary, I could be fooled by my own head.

"Tricky, tricky..." I garbled while shoveling another spoonful in my mouth. Such a snack should be sinful.

Moments like those, I cherished. I lived in the apartment for four and a half years (and counting), and everything seemed bearable. Michigan was actually bigger than I was exposed to when I was younger, and just being on my own made me realize it.
Can you imagine my excitement on exploring?

Right when the documentary went to commercial, my phone rang; perfect timing.
I looked down at the screen and smiled. My mom.

After unlocking the screen and putting her on speakerphone, a shrill of laughter sounded through my phone.
"Happy birthday, Erin!"

My heart went out to that woman. She really loved me.
"Not for a couple of hours, Mommy, but I'll take it," I laughed. "Did you bake me a cake this year?"

 "Of course I did! Just waiting for you to come down here!"

I wasn't expecting her to be serious. "Oh...you know I can't make it today. I've got work."

She huffed (dramatically) so that I could hear the vibration of her frustration. "The more you run from me, the less far you'll get, Greylene."

That's my middle name. Greylene.

"I'm not running!" I chuckled. "I'm watching a documentary about brains and enjoying the Ann Arbor weather while it's still nice!"

"It's Autumn, Erin. It'll stay nice for three months total. You need to come down and see your old mother before I get too frail to even dial your number—"

"And I'm sure pigs will fly before that happens. You're only forty-nine, Mom; relax."

She cleared her throat and began to whisper. "I'm only forty-three, so don't you start throwing out labels. I'm old, dammit, and my daughter is turning twenty-two today..."

As my mother paused, I could hear my father's voice in the background.
The sound was like a cucumber left to rot in a vat of boiling vinegar.

"...that Erin?"

"Wanna talk to her?"

I stammered, "N-No, I've got to go now. I'll talk to you later, Mom," before hanging up.

I turned my phone off before another call could come flooding through.
This is what Hell felt like to me. Every year, I dodged my mother and dodged the opportunity to go back to the house and after six years of keeping my father's sin a secret, I was even guiltier than I'd been the year before.

Better stay in AnnHarbor and enjoy your disgusting pineapple-graham-cracker frozen yogurt, Greylene.

The worst part being that exactly fifteen days after my birthday, there was the annual celebration called Thanksgiving. That's where you give thanks and all, but I had nothing to be thankful for in that house except for my Mom.
That's why I always found myself inviting her over for turkey-shaped pizza and root beer.
Luckily enough, she never asked me why I never invited my father over.
That, I was thankful for.

The documentary resumed and I realized that I'd consumed almost all of my graham crackers. My yogurt was running low and the idea of going to the store before nine o'clock didn't seem very fun to me.

Inevitably speaking, I grabbed my phone, turned it on, and scrolled to the first contact I could.