I woke with dread in my heart.
The sky outside was corpse-pale, unconvincing in its cheeriness. I dressed in silence, layering myself in dark cotton and denim, bracing for the long day ahead.
I shrugged into my faded hoodie, the cotton threadbare and soft against my skin, then wrestled into jeans that were too small.
My footsteps echoed through the narrow hallway as I passed Mom’s door. I paused, heart thudding, and peered inside.
She sat on the edge of her bed, a small amber lamp flickering beside her, hunched over the nightstand. Lines of fine white powder glistened on the oak surface.
She pinched a rolled-up dollar between trembling fingers, bent her head, and inhaled. A quiet sniffle escaped her as she turned, revealing hollows beneath her eyes and cheeks pulled taut over sunken bones.
The woman I once knew was gone, replaced by a pale ghost who drew poison into her lungs.
My breath hitched. I pressed a hand to my heart and vowed, with every last echo of dread, never to follow the same path. I would not lose myself in haze and emptiness.
As I stood there, a figure peeled out of the shadows behind Mom. Tall, angular, features swallowed in half-light.
My pulse hammered, and I stumbled back as he latched the door shut, severing me from refuge.
The man’s smile glistened. He watched me with a hungry clarity that made my skin try to crawl away from itself.
“Hey there.” His voice was syrup-slow, the kind that stuck to the roof of your mouth. “You Judy’s little one? Don’t think we’ve met.”
The man’s eyes glittered. “You want a bump? First one’s free,” he said, and patted the pillow beside him, like I was a dog he wanted to coax closer.
He grinned at me with catlike, unblinking eyes, then made a show of licking his lips. His hair was a greasy halo, and the way he leaned against Mom’s dresser made my skin crawl.
“Don’t be a bitch, Amelia,” Mom muttered, voice thick with contempt. “Take a bump and get to school, okay? Jesus.” Her hand was already reaching for the next line, knuckles white, veins spidering blue beneath the thin skin.
I wanted to vomit.
I offered a bitter smile and ducked into the bathroom, locking the door with shaking hands.
I stood there for a long time, forehead pressed to the cold metal of the lock, listening to their laughter seep through the drywall.
My palms sweated, my teeth buzzed. I didn’t dare move. I could see the needle’s shadow in my mind, hovering at the edge of the mirror.
Once I felt it was safe, I tiptoed through the rest of the house, hoping to find Lillian waiting with sleepy warmth.
Instead, her door lay shut; soft snores leaked through the crack. Disappointment was a bitter chord in my chest.
I stepped outside into the cool morning, the ache in my gut swirling like storm clouds.
The wind nipped at my ankles, pulling at the loose threads of my jeans, and I thought about how the cold made every memory sharper, howevery passing day carved me thinner.
At the curb, a battered yellow bus squatted beneath maples, students crowding at its door in a loose, shuffling pack.
I almost wished Dante could be here, but he wasn’t in this class with me, leaving me alone with Caiden, his best friend.
Mrs. Grant, our history teacher, perched at the top of the bus steps, clipboard in hand, yelling names over the tangled chatter.
I kept my eyes on my sneakers and handed her my permission slip, not trusting my hands not to shake.
She barely registered me.
I squeezed past a cluster of soccer girls, their laughter bright and mean, and picked an empty seat near the back. I pressed myself to the window.
Ten minutes passed. More students filtered in, filling the seats with the chaos of young bodies and too-loud voices.
