“What?” Her eyes narrow slightly, but she doesn’t look shocked. There’s no guilt, no remorse, just an unflinching wall of self-righteousness.
“You moved it,” I continue, my voice rising, “on purpose. Because you don’t support me going to CSU. You never have. You hate the idea of me leaving, of me following my own dreams.”
“That’s not true—”
“Yes, it is!” I shout, my voice cracking as my emotions bubble over. “You’ve been against this since day one! Ever since I got into CSU, you’ve been waiting for the chance to sabotage it. And now you’ve found it. Well, congratulations, Mom. You’ve done it.”
Her face hardens, the façade of calm control cracking as her eyes flash with something dangerous—something I’ve seen too many times before. “Dylan, you’re being completely irrational. I did not sabotage anything. I moved the wedding because it makes sense. You don’t need to go across the state to some overpriced school. You can get your degree here, closer to home. It’s more practical—”
“Practical?” I cut her off, my voice trembling with disbelief. “You think it’s practical to throw away everything I’ve worked for? To give up on sports medicine so I can stay here and… what? Join a sorority? Play dress-up for your perfect little fantasy life?”
Her lips press into a thin line. “There’s nothing wrong with joining a sorority. It’s about connections, about building a future with the right people. And maybe if you weren’t so focused on chasing some unrealistic dream, you’d see that.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. My heart pounds in my chest, every word she says like a slap to the face. The air between us is thick with tension that feels like it could snap at any moment.
“This isn’t about me,” I choke out, my voice raw. “This is about you. It’s always been about you.”
For a second, the room goes still, the silence between us deafening. Her eyes flash with something unreadable—anger? Hurt? I can’t tell. But she doesn’t back down. She never does.
“I’ve had enough,” I whisper, my voice barely holding together. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Without another word, I spin on my heel and storm upstairs. My feet pound against the hardwood floor as I rush to my room, slamming the door behind me with a force that rattles the walls. The second the door shuts, a sob catches in my throat, but I swallow it down. I refuse to cry. Not over her. Not over this.
I grab my phone, my hands shaking as I type a message to Ford and Jacob.
Me: I’m going to see Matthew. Mom’s crossed the line this time. I can’t stay here.
Ford’s response is immediate.
Ford: What did she do? Are you okay?
Me: She just told me she moved the wedding to August 10th. Whatever she can do to sabotage me going to CSU.
Jacob isn’t far behind.
Jacob: Are you serious? She actually did that?
Ford: I’d say some time away from Momzilla is a good thing. Just make sure you don’t fall off the radar. We’ll worry.
I toss my phone onto the bed and run a hand through my hair, pacing the room. My heart is still racing, my head spinning. This can’t be real. This is my life she’s messing with, my future, and she just doesn’t care.
I open my closet and yank down a small duffel bag, throwing clothes into it—just the essentials. My mind flashes to Matthew. We’ve been texting for weeks now, ever since he moved to CSU. I scroll through the messages on my phone until I find his address, my heart thumping in my chest. We had talked about me coming to see him. He seemed excited… at least, I hope he was serious.
I text the guys again.
Me: I’m packing. Heading to Matthew’s. Got his address.
Jacob: Good. Stay in touch, alright? Don’t do anything too crazy.
Ford: And if he gives you any crap, we’re coming for him. Don’t let him mess with you.
Me: I won’t. I love you two so much.
I take a deep breath, tossing a few more things into my bag. I can feel the weight of the decision I’m about to make, the way it will change everything. Sneaking out like this—it’s reckless and impulsive. But staying here feels like a slow death, like being smothered by expectations that will never be my own.
Grabbing my duffel, I make my way to the window. I could just walk out but I don’t want the drama or fight. I’ve done this before—climbed out, sneaking away for something far less important. But this time, it feels different. This time, it feels like I’m running for my life.
The tree outside my window offers an easy escape, its branches just strong enough to hold my weight. I slip out quietly, the cool night air brushing against my skin as I shimmy down the trunk. My heart is pounding, my breath coming in shallow pants, but the adrenaline keeps me moving.
