It’s Sunday evening. I haven’t slept in the last two weeks because I’ve been waiting for my parents to get distracted so I can sneak out, but they’ve sent my aunt to take care of me and I don’t really want to give her trouble.
I’m called to go downstairs and eat dinner.
“Oh my god, Noah. You look terrible.” Hannah says in the moment I enter the kitchen, tracing a line over the black bags under my eyes with her thumbs. “Have you had nightmares again?” She asks worriedly.
I shake my head slightly just to get off her grip. “Kind of.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Do you want to talk about your fight?” She insists, drinking a sip of her water while waiting for a response.
“No.” I repeat, trying my best to eat a little faster so I can avoid the conversation.
