A Chance to Reappear

Chapter 12

            Mom is out running errands by the time we get home. Zoe considers going back to school but is weary on leaving me alone. Instead, she just sits herself in the living room, putting on Netflix and working on homework. She orders me not to leave her sight. I scoff and run up to my room, slamming the door behind me. I tear through the room, trying to find my stash of weed. I just need something to take the edge off.

It's gone. Mom had to have taken it.

I flop onto my bed in defeat, my face pressed down in the pillow. If I could only just suffocate and then this would all be over.

My phone buzzes in my pocket several times, a rapid fire of texts messages. I groan, yank it from my jeans, and see all of them are from Evan. I start to unlock the phone, then it starts ringing. Mom's face and caller ID fill the screen. In a knee-jerk reaction, I reject the call, instead focusing on Evan's messages.

"Are you okay?"

"Alana is really sorry about everything."

"I'm sorry, too. It made me uncomfortable."

"Are you coming back?"

"Kids are saying you pulled a girl's hair?"

"Connor?"

Love. Hatred. Love. Hatred. Love. Hatred. My emotions flip flop as I can't decide how I feel about Evan. This is a telltale symptom of BPD: splitting. It's a defense mechanism of black or white. You're either good or you're bad. Just think neutral thoughts, Connor. Come on.

I know I don't hate Evan. That is a fact.

I know I don't love Evan. That is a fact.

I am clinging on to him and attaching myself too quickly because he is giving me positive attention. That is a fact.

I throw my phone across the room and bury myself in blankets.

/\/\/\

By the time I wake up, the sun is already setting. Downstairs, dishes rattle against each other as dinner is being made. Muffled voices drift up the stairs and through my door. Larry asks Zoe to set the table, his voice always much softer and kinder with her. Zoe asks how many plates to set. Larry tells her to not bother setting a place for me. Mom argues, making Zoe set the table for everyone. I lay huddled in my blankets, wondering if I will decide to eat with everyone.

There's a knock at my door. I stay silent. Mom lets herself in anyway.

"Dinner's ready, sweetheart," she says softly while I glare at her from my bed. "I made panko chicken. I know you've always liked that."

Dramatically, I roll off the bed, thumping onto the floor. Mom waits patiently as I untangle myself. She takes my hand, like I'm suddenly a toddler again and she's leading me out of Barnes and Noble after a good day. But today was not a good day.

"Look who's up!" she announces once we enter the dining room. Lazy, disinterested glances pass over me. I want to slither back up the stairs into hiding.

"How was school?" Larry asks before I'm even seated.

"Oh, it was fine," I say sarcastically. "Just like any other day for a kid like me that is oh so normal and healthy."

"You watch your tone, young man."

"You watch your tone, young man," I mimic, feeling simultaneously proud and shitty for my actions.