My parents are arguing again.
I can hear their voices from the kitchen. Their tones are jagged and the words tear through the house and batter my ears.
"You're never around anymore, Richard! You're running away from our problems and hiding away at the bar! You're not the only one affected by this! While you drown your problems in whiskey, you're leaving your family behind to deal with the aftermath!"
"Shut up, Nicole! Just shut up! You and I both know this family is falling apart! We can't just ignore everything and be a perfect little family! Not since-"
My mother cut him off. "Don't say it, Richard." Her sobs were mutilating her own words, the sentence distorted and almost undecipherable.
My father was silent.
Then he started to walk away.
His footsteps grew louder as he came near my bedroom door. He paused for a moment as if debating whether or not to come inside.
I waited.
For the knob to turn.
For the door to open.
For him to tell me everything would be okay and that he loved me.
But he just walked away.
