Walking into the last class for the day, I see Brie sitting in the corner, which means I share five classes with her.
I take the seat next to her and notice she’s working on a new sketch.
Once everyone is seated, the teacher begins to talk. He pretty much says the same thing as the rest of the teachers, then scribbles his name on the board. Mr. Donati.
“For your first assignment…” Mr. Donati grins as the class groans. “I want you each to tell me why you chose this class. A short paper, two thousand words. And I want it done by tomorrow when you walk through that door.” He locks eyes with a girl that was last to arrive. “On time.”
Mr. Donati starts with the lesson, and my eyes drift over to the sketch Brie is working on. The movement of her hand as she draws is hypnotizing, and I zone out.
I watch as the image takes shape, and soon, there’s a frown etched onto my face. Brie’s drawing a girl that’s screaming while gripping her hair. She’s really good because I can actually feel the emotions jumping off the page. Frustration and torment.
Is that how she feels?
When the bell rings, I’m ripped out of the reverie I was caught in. Brie again rushes out of the class, and after I’ve packed my own things, I get up and leave.
There’s no sign of Brie as I head out of the building. When I get to my truck, I throw my bag on the passenger seat before sliding in behind the wheel. I steer the vehicle carefully out of the parking area, but it takes a couple of minutes because everyone is in a hurry to get away from school.
Once I’m finally driving down the main road toward the neighborhood I live in, I spot Brie walking. For a moment, I contemplate stopping to offer her a ride but then decide it would be weird, seeing as we don’t know each other.
She probably doesn’t even know my name.
Getting home and pulling up the driveway, I notice the lawn needs some care. I’ll mow it once it’s cooler outside. Walking into the house, that’s similar to the one we had in California, silence greets me.
My father has been throwing money at my mother in the hopes he can buy her back.
God, I hope she doesn’t give in. There’s no way I’ll ever let that man back into my life.
I kick off my shoes at the front door, and taking the stairs to the second floor, I head to my mother’s room. Softly nudging the door open, I see Mom lying on the bed.
Brady’s death broke her. Right after his suicide, she went into overdrive, rushing to get me away from my father. Once Mom had us settled in the town where she grew up, and she knew I was safe, it’s like she just shut down.
She hardly leaves the house and spends most of her time in bed. I take care of the shopping, cooking, and… practically everything.
I move closer, and sitting down on the bed, I place my hand on her shoulder. “I’m home.”
She turns her face to me, her eyes dimmed of all light and an exhausted expression, making her look years older than she is. “Did you have a good first day?”
I lie down behind her and wrap my arm around her. “It was okay. The teachers seem nice. I got a ton of homework.”
“Want to order something for dinner?” she whispers as if it would take too much energy to speak a little louder.
“I’ll make us something,” I reply. I give her a hug and press a kiss to the side of her head. “Want me to bring you something to drink.”
She shakes her head and burying her face in her pillow, she grips my arm and pulls me closer. “Can you just stay with me a little while?”
I snuggle back down and begin to talk about the first thing that comes to my mind. “There’s a girl at school. Her name is Brie.”
“Yeah?” Mom’s voice cracks over the single word.
“She draws really well.”
I don’t know why I’m bringing up Brie.
“I’m glad you’re making friends,” Mom mumbles.
I don’t correct her. The last thing I want is to worry my mother unnecessarily.
I stay with Mom for a couple of minutes longer, then say, “I’m going to get started with my homework.”
She nods. “Let me know if you need help with anything.”
“Sure.” I won’t, though. I do my best to be the strong one so Mom can just heal.
I give her one last squeeze, then get up and go to my own room. I sit down and open my laptop, deciding to work on the essay Mr. Donati gave us.
Why did I choose history?
Cause it’s easy, and I just want to pass my senior year so I can look after my mother.
I begin to type, explaining it in detail. He’ll either give me an A or ask the counselor to meet with me. Either way, I’m not going to lie.
My entire life has been built on lies. My future sure as hell won’t be.
After two hours of working on the essay, I stretch out to loosen my muscles. I go to change into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and slip on my sneakers. Heading out to the backyard, I pull the lawnmower out of the shed.
The sun is setting by the time I’m done mowing the lawn. Walking back to the house, I pull my t-shirt off and use it to wipe the sweat from my face and back of my neck. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and chug it down as I go to throw the shirt in the laundry basket.
I kick off the sneakers and get a fresh shirt to pull on, then head back to the kitchen.
I take two steaks from the freezer and put them in some hot water so they can thaw, thinking I should’ve taken them out earlier.
I’ve gotten used to cooking for us. It’s either that or take-out, and I can’t stomach junk food anymore.
My thoughts go back to school while I prepare dinner. None of the students stood out. Well, except for Brie. The rest are the same as at my previous school.
I wonder what Brie’s story is. Is she just an introvert, or is there more?
From experience, I know how easy it is to hide abuse. God, you do everything in your power so people won’t find out.
We didn’t lie so my father wouldn’t get in trouble. We did it so people wouldn’t pity us.
Fuck, if only I had said something. If only I’d done more.
Then Brady would still be here.
When the food is ready, I prepare a plate for Mom. Grabbing a bottle of water and cutlery, I set it all on a tray. I carry the meal to her room and say, “Time to eat.”
She lets out a groan.
“Come on. I tried something new with the steak. I grilled it in butter and garlic.”
Mom sits up and wipes the hair out of her face. I set the tray down and whisper, “It would really make me happy if you eat half of it at least.”
It’s a low blow, but if I don’t guilt-trip her, she doesn’t eat.
I wait for her to take a bite of the steak. Mom gives me a weak smile. “My son, the chef. It’s delicious.”
Pleased that she’s eating, I go grab the book I’m reading and walk back to the kitchen. Taking my plate, I go sit outside on the porch.
Eating, I stare out over the lawn. I spent the summer planting shrubs and flowers. Mom always loved gardening, and I hoped it would draw her out of the house. But it didn’t.
When I’m finished with the meal, I read for a while before I go back inside to clean the kitchen. Grabbing the tray from Mom’s room, I smile when I see that she ate most of the food.