Afraid of Belonging

She doesn't remember the first time she decided she didn't care.

Maybe it was the night she realized no one was coming back for her
Maybe it was the first pill The first burn in her lungs The first morning she woke up on a stranger's couch and felt nothing at all
She lives in a crumbling house with people who call themselves friends kids with chipped nail polish loud music and their own private damage They share everything: clothes secrets addictions It's not love but it's loud enough to drown out the silence.

And silence is dangerous.
She tells herself she likes it this way numb, untouchable unclaimed Alone is easier Alone doesn't leave

Then someone finds her
Not a social worker Not a cop Not another temporary fix
Family

Real family Blood History Answers she never asked for

They say they've been searching They say she belongs to them

But belonging feels like a threat
Like a cage with softer walls
Like something that could break her worse than abandonment ever did

Because if she lets them close enough to see who she's become the smoke in her veins the wreckage she calls coping they might decide she was better off lost
And if they don't

She might have to learn how to live without the numbness.

And that's the scariest thing of all.