After dinner, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, listening to my mother humming that song — one of her favorites these days. She usually hums when she remembers that night.
And who would know better than me?
That one question always lingers in my head: Do I miss Dad? Or should I?
Does he even deserve to be missed?
I turn my eyes toward the window. It still scares me. It still makes me feel guilty sometimes…
—
At school, in the library.
"Huh, who the hell writes stuff like that?" I mutter, shutting the book in annoyance.
From across the table, I hear a soft giggle.
"You're mad over a kid's book?"
I lift my head and see her — a girl dressed like a glitter queen, but somehow… a nicer version.
"Hi," she says, gentle and light. Her tone makes me feel weirdly at ease, breaking the unsettling tension that's been clinging to me at her sudden giggle..
"Oh, uh, hi," I reply, trying not to make direct eye contact with her..
Yeah, I'm nervous. People don't usually approach me — especially not people this bright.
She giggles again, probably at my annoyed face from earlier.
Honestly, I don't get kids' books. Why does everything have to be alive just to teach them lessons that don't even make sense?
The girl pulls out a chair and sits beside me, still smiling.
"I'm Elizabeth," she says.
"I'm… Zoey."
I smile at her — a soft one. Maybe this is what something real feels like, compared to the ones I give Mother… those fake smiles.
Elizabeth flips through the pages of the book I was just annoyed at. She looks so interested, so involved. I end up watching her more than the book. She finally closes it and looks straight at me.
"You're that quiet girl, right?" she asks….
I raise a brow before she leans closer, lowering her voice. "People usually say you're… you know." She whispers the word everyone already knows.
"Psycho."
I smile. Weirdly, it doesn't sound like an insult from her.
She gasps a little. "Oh my— smart mouth. I'm so sorry!" She raises her hands in surrender.
I giggle. "Umm, it's okay. Nothing new. But I guess this is the first time it didn't sound bad."
"Oh really?" she teases, her face turning thoughtful. "May I ask you something?"
I nods…
"Why do you stay away from everyone? You seem… normal to me."
I look away. "Umm… I've changed schools a lot. It's hard to fit in. And I guess I just don't try anymore."
I never explain myself to people — but with her, it feels strangely natural. She nods slowly, like she's analyzing the little lie I just fed her.
"Oh, I see. But, you know," she smirks, "you should still talk to people. Like me."
She winks playfully. I can't help but smile at her — that cute, flirty wink.
"Point to be noted," she says dramatically, "you nod a lot, you know."
I laugh quietly. "Umm, I guess yeah."
We end up talking for hours in that library. I find out she's a new transfer, just like I used to be. Maybe she just wanted a half-dead soul to be her friend.
Or maybe the ancestors cursed me to say yes.
Haha...
Crouching on the floor, I hear my mother screaming —
"No! Noooo! Don't you dare hit her, Alex! No!"
Then the sound of glass.
The alcohol bottle shatters against my head, and my scream of agony fills the house — blending with my mother's desperate cries.
I woke up; my hands instantly went to my head, a habit after these types of dreams, I can still feel that head injury from that smash —
the same nightmare.
Or maybe a daymare, since I'd only fallen asleep after school.
It was evening now. The soft purple sky peeked through my window as I sat up, my hair a tangled mess.
I yawned, stretched, and dragged myself downstairs.
Mother wasn't home — probably still at work. She's a nurse at some small, unknown hospital. But somehow, she still manages to be… nice to me.
Even with her drug addiction...
A knock on the door dragged me out of my thoughts.
"Hmm… it's not Mom."
I frowned, staring toward the hallway.
Then who could it be — at this hour, other than her?
...….z...…