Lying to Survive

Chapter 12

You finally got home at around three in the morning. It wasn't until you fished around for your key in your purse and threw off your shoes as you trudged into your small apartment that you realized you were really exhausted.

You were probably exhausted for the first time in your life. You'd never worked before, and this really took a toll on you.

You reeked of alcohol. Not the expensive, aged kind you would smell everyday at home. The cheap kind you served to people who wanted to make bad decisions. You debated whether or not you had the energy to shower.

The answer was no. You put on a hoodie and shorts and collapsed onto your tiny bed. Your legs hung over the side. The sheets felt dull, if that was even possible. The pillows were scratchy. Your duvet smelled like too much laundry detergent, probably because you didn't know the proper amount to put in when you washed it.

You thought of your bed at home. It had always been too big for you, since it was a king. You drowned in your sheets. The first and last thing you saw everyday was the muted blue of your sheets. They were silk and laid delicately over your skin. Your pillows were so soft that your head sunk into them like a marshmallow whenever you laid down. Your duvet was big and thick with intricate designs woven into it. You would pull it all the way up to your chin and it wrapped you up like a warm hug that said "Everything's going to be okay."

Don't be mistaken: you were not homesick. You hated your "home". Homes are supposed to be nice and warm and filled with people that love you and you love them. You only had a house with people in it that used you because you made yourself useful. They could've done without you and you were sure of it. Anyone and everyone was replaceable, as you were often told.

You had a house, not a home. It was ice cold, always. Every sound outside of your room echoed. There were expensive decorations everywhere that were probably worth more to them than you. No one told you to, but you always felt like you had to stay quiet in places outside of your room.

You had a house. It was ice cold and quiet, except for when there were parties, which was every weekend. You put on a nice dress and stayed downstairs, sitting in a corner. Everyone smelled like alcohol. Glasses clinked and roars of laughter erupted from a murmur of conversation. You snuck deserts into your dress pockets before going up to bed.

You had a house. It was ice cold and quiet, most of the time. You didn't like the basement. It went from being a beautiful cage upstairs to a twisted illusion downstairs. It was like a hospital down there. The walls were all white, and the lights were too florescent. You weren't allowed in half of the rooms and the other half had locked doors. You heard screams sometimes.

In the middle of your ice cold, eerily silent, cage with secrets underneath it, was you. A tiny bird, trapped in the cage. No one was with you in your house. No one really cared about you. It was cold because there was no warmth. The only reason anybody talked to you was to instruct you on how to properly commit crimes without getting your hands too dirty. They yelled at you when you made mistakes or questioned them. You could still see their looming figures over you, telling you how easily you could be replaced. You still felt your father's critical eyes on you as you shrunk in his office chair, holding back your tears until it almost burned. He almost dared you to cry, just so he could scold you again.

You fell asleep with thoughts of your warm bed on your mind, but it was the memories of everything else that kept you up.

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