"maybe you should stay home. don't over exert yourself mamás." my mom looks at me while i pour both of us a cup of coffee.
"i'm good." i take a sip of my intensely hot coffee, some how the burn doesn't phase me. "robbie, robbie?" i call grabbing my bag filled with books and be fire i can reach for the keys my mom snatches them from me.
"i'll drive." she smiles and ushers me out of the house, not in a gentle way for a mother who just 5 seconds ago wanted me to stay home.
she peels off, burning rubber. literally leaving skid marks. "we're not running late, what's the rush? plus you seen to be forgetting your other child. what's wrong with you?"
"he's not going to school today haylie." she looks out the cracked window with her the outside of her hand against her mouth.
"well i can bring us tomorrow, i don't mind." i reach for my bag opening the door.
"he's not coming to school tomorrow either flaquita."
"what do you mean?" i laugh.
"the night that you didn't come home. he had an accident, another outburst. so.."
"so you what mom? what did you do? what did he do?" i begin to raise my voice and the cars behind my moms jeep begin to honk in unison.
"there's this place called mery house and i think this could really help haylie i really do." she starts to smile and cry. she's crazy, she's fucking lost it.
"i cannot believe you. this won't work. it never does." i get out slamming the door and she leaves. but the different honks still longer in my ears. i stagger through the doors to find my locker. i look at my phone it 8:20, classes don't start till 9. now i'm starting to think the only thing that made sense coming out of her mouth was that i should stay home. my head is spinning.
with my back against the lockers i stare straight into the flooded hallway, there's too many people. i start to panick. the room starts to feel smaller by the minute. "one... two....." i take deep and hollow breaths. it's like nothing is there. what's wrong with me? i haven't had a panic attack or an anxiety attack since sophomore year. i'm 17, borderline of turning 18. i should be over this crap.
i sink, my back glides down the harsh bumps of the lockers. "hey, hey. get up. what're you doing on the floor?" he squats down and cups my cheeks.
"you okay, what's wrong?"
"baby talk to me." i hate that word. always have. but i like it when he says it, he makes the word tolerable.
i reach my hands and place then over his, i let out a deep breath. "three."
•you begin to feel like home•
i watch as he wraps his arm around my shoulder, slowly and almost reluctantly. he doesn't speak till we're alone. "how have you been?" he coughs moving his arm stepping two feet away from me.
"i've been better. how about you?" i ask pointing out his shoulder. my fingers inch close to grab hold and he stops me, "don't." he bites.
