Can't get over you

Chapter 3

Her ride home felt longer than it should have. My head still ached, but it wasn’t the hangover.

She didn’t turn around. Just kept scrubbing. Her shoulders shook.

Disheveled.

My sister was in the kitchen, back turned, shoulders tense. Her arms moved quickly—scrubbing something that didn’t look dirty. Just scrubbing.

I stepped in, quiet.

The house smelled faintly of burnt toast and something more acidic. Something wrong.

I unlocked the front door slowly. The living room was a mess. Cushions scattered, a glass broken on the tiled floor, the sharp glint of it catching the light like a warning.

"Hey," I said softly.

But I had to.

"Tara?"

No response.

I froze. Her words slammed into me like a slap.

"I know I told you not to come," she snapped, voice sharp and trembling, "but why didn’t you pick up the damn call?"

"I—I didn’t hear it. I was… I wasn’t near my phone."

"What happened?" I asked, stepping closer.

She slammed the sponge into the sink and whirled around. Her eyes were swollen, her hair disheveled.

"Of course you weren’t," she spat. "You never are when it matters."

"Tara, that’s not fair—"

Tara laughed bitterly. "That’s what you said last time. And the time before."

The broken glass, the silence, the way Tara refused to meet my eyes—all of it painted a picture I wasn’t ready to look at head-on.

"Tell me what happened. Please."

"Like how you shut us out after Aaron? Like that?"

She crossed her arms, jaw clenched.

"I was going to come home. I called you."

Her eyes flared.

"Oh, you called? Great. That fixes everything."

"Where's Mum?"

"She left. Again. Took her bag and went to God-knows-where. Said she needed air."

I leaned on the wall, breath knocked out of me.

"I wasn’t there. I should have been here."

"Don’t do that," I said, stepping closer. "Don’t shut me out when I’m trying to understand."

"No," she cut in, voice breaking, "you know what’s not fair? Me having to clean up after everything falls apart while you get to run off and disappear into your drama."

That stung. More than I expected.

"Tara. Who came?"

She hesitated. Looked at me, then away.

"He came again."

The room spun.

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I blinked them back.

"My throat tightened. "Did he touch you?"

She scoffed. "You can’t fix everything, Farah. Sometimes things are just broken."

She didn’t answer.

I stepped into the hallway, not sure if I was going to my room or away from her. But I stopped when I saw the door to Mum’s room slightly ajar.

Inside, the bed was made. Too neat. The closet slightly open, her perfume bottle still out on the dresser.

Her scarf was gone. And she never left without her scarf.

"Was it Dad?"

"No," she snapped. "But he scared Mum. Said things that... I don’t even want to repeat. She froze. She always freezes."

Her flinch was the only confirmation I needed.

The whisper came back.

"I read every single one of your texts."

Aaron’s silence.

"Did you finally come home, or did the man throw you out?"

And suddenly, I didn’t know what was hurting me more:

Again?

My family’s screams that never made it to my ears because I was too far away to hear them.

The sound of keys scraping against the door jolted me from a half-sleep.

I sat up on the couch, my blanket falling to the floor.

Mum walked in, calm. Too calm. Her makeup was smudged, eyes red-rimmed but dry. She kicked off her heels and dropped her purse like she hadn’t vanished for hours.

Mum glanced at me, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. Disappointment flickered before she even spoke.

"I was going to come home. I just—"

"You just what? Had more important things to do than be here when your family fell apart?"

Her voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t have to be.

"I didn’t know he came. If I had known—"

"You would have done what? Thrown yourself between us again? You weren’t there, Farah. Running when it matters most."

Hard.

I sat at the dining table, untouched tea cooling beside my elbow.

Tara had already left for class.

Morning crept in through the cracks in the curtains.

My phone buzzed.

Staring at myself in the mirror, I barely recognized the girl in the reflection.

Eyes dull. Mouth tight. Shoulders curled inward. Still breathing. But still standing.

She walked past me, but I followed.

She turned.

"I can help. I can fix this."

"You always think you can fix things. With your words. Your dramatics. But you’re just like him."

I opened my mouth to argue but found nothing. Just the ache. The silence.

---

An alarm. I was going to be late.

I moved on autopilot—shower, clothes, hair tied up.

Mum didn’t come out of her room.

She didn’t wait for a reply. Just walked to her room and shut the door.

Still moving.

I grabbed my bag, stepped into my boots, and left the house like a shadow.

Whatever the day held, at least it would be something other than this.