The Perfect Witness

Toxic Lies and Cute Guys

The hallways of Shadow Hills High were always congested on the first day of school.

Freshmen scurried around like lost ants, their eyes wide and schedules clutched in their hands.

In the center of the hallway, clusters of older students leaned against lockers, their laughter and whispers blending into a constant hum.

Teachers stood tall like sentinels, their arms outstretched, pointing and guiding the disoriented newcomers.

Like every year, it's like trying to find some personal space in a can of sardines.

* * *

For me, the chaos of the hallways was a stark contrast to the solitude of my mornings. Each morning felt like dragging myself out of quicksand.

The outside world loomed like a storm, full of uncertainty and fear.

I cocooned myself a little longer in my blush-colored blanket, the only shield I had left, its warmth a fragile barrier against the cold dread that seeped into my bones.

Regret clung to me like a second skin as I slowly forced myself out of bed. Each movement felt heavy, as if an invisible weight was pressing down, making even the act of getting ready for the first day of hell a monumental task.

I tiredly crept down the stairs, through the living room, and into the kitchen to find my mom gracefully cooking waffles and eggs on the stove.

"Morning, Mom," I lazily declared as I plopped down on one of the snowy white bar stools at our white and gray marble island.

"Morning, sweetheart! How were you feeling this morning?"

My mom leisurely turned to face me, her light brown curls bouncing and her tan skin glistening under the soft white lights of our kitchen.

As she waited for my response, she placed a small white plate in front of me, the ceramic dish loudly clanking against the countertop.

"Better! My chest was still bruised and a bit sore... but overall I feel better!" My words tumbled out in mumbled sentences, my fingers absently tracing the edges of the small white plate in front of me.

Sighing deeply, my mom placed a warm golden waffle on my empty plate, the rich aroma momentarily comforting.

I hesitated, watching her face for any clue, before cautiously asking, "What's wrong, Mom?" Her shoulders sagged slightly, and I could almost feel the weight she was carrying, as if an invisible burden was pulling her down.

My mom's gaze shifted from the waffle to my eyes, and in that moment, I saw a ghost of the woman she used to be.

The sparkle that once defined her light brown eyes was now a shadow, dulled by an invisible weight.

It was as if every unspoken word had carved lines of sorrow into her soul, and each blink struggled to hold back a flood of tears.

"Just work sweetheart. Do you want eggs?" My mom questioned as tears filled the corners of her eyes. Her voice shook as she fought to complete her sentence without crying.

"Sure... Thank you, mom."

"Mhm..." My mom muttered, turning her back to me.

You see, I had no clue what my mom did for work.

They worked her crazy hours and constantly had her away from home on business trips.

Or maybe it wasn't her work at all, and it had more to do with my asshole of a father!