Array
(
[text] =>
THE FAINT HUM OF THE DISHWASHER fills the silence of the house. Sitting at the island counter, I’m staring blankly at the mug of tea in front of me like I have been doing for the past ten minutes that it’s probably gone cold by now.
The front door opens with a soft creak, and I hear Felix’s heavy footsteps in the hall. He’s just come back from practice with our dad despite the cold weather at this time in the morning.
The door closes and I listen in as his footsteps come closer and closer until he walks into the kitchen, still in his training gear and his hair damp with sweat.
“Hey,” he utters, tossing his duffle bag onto one of the empty chairs.
“Hey.”
He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge, takes a long drink, and then leans onto the counter, watching me with furrowed brows. “So… you want to tell me why you ditched me yesterday?”
I stiffen but don’t answer, my eyes still glued onto the mug in front of me.
“You agreed to get hot chocolate with me,” he presses, his tone sharper now. “I waited, Carmen.”
“I wasn’t feeling it,” I reply flatly with a shrug, finally looking up to meet his gaze.
“I was looking forward to it. I thought-” he stops himself, a frown stelling onto his face. “I thought we were finally going to spend some time with each other, you know? Not us arguing and ignoring each other like usual.”
“You’re a little too late,” I mutter, the words slipping out without a thought.
Confusion flashes through his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you should have tried earlier.”
His brows only manage to furrow more, not having a clue on what I’m speaking about.
“It means that you had years to try to hang out with me, Felix. You waited for me for how long? A few minutes? But I waited for years.”
He takes a step back, surprised by my words. I’m surprised by them too.
“I was busy,” he says, although it sounds like he’s convincing himself rather than me. “But that’s the only reason.”
“Is it, Felix?” I reply, my voice rising. “Take a trip down memory road and try to remember how much you loved that all mum’s and dad’s attention was on you, how many times you guys went out without me, and especially all those times I tried to hangout with you but you said no.”
“That’s not how it was.”
“Yes, it was, and it’s still like that,” I huffed, throwing my arms up in the heat of the frustration. How can he not see it? How was he not seeing it before? It’s right in his face. The unfairness, the favouritism, all of it.
“What’s going on here?” We both turn to see our mother standing in the hallway, her arms crossed and her expression tight.
“Nothing,” Felix replies quickly as if he’s trying to diffuse the situation that hasn’t even started yet.
“Really? Because I heard Carmen yelling from my office, disturbing my work,” she counters, her sharp gaze landing on me.
“Mija, qué te pasa?” A disappointed sigh escapes her lips before she adds, “You’ve been in a foul mood for weeks and now you’re taking it out on your poor brother.”
“Oh, so now you want to know what’s up with me,” I chuckle dryly. “Now you care?” The words leave me before I even have a chance to think about what I’m saying but in some sort of way, I like it. I’m finally letting out all the thoughts I’ve kept inside for so long. But I know it doesn’t matter what I say. It’s not going to change anything.
“Excuse me?”
“I didn’t tell any lies.” I shrug my shoulders. “It’s the truth.”
“You better apologise right this second, Carmen.”
“She didn’t mean it,” Felix is quick to say.
“I know you’re the golden boy but you’re not really helping right now so just stop,” I huff, diverting my attention to him.
“Now you’re doing it again,” she shakes her head in disbelief, “taking out your anger on all the wrong people.”
“No, my anger is right where it needs to be,” I counter, crossing my arms.
Her eyes widened slightly at my response, clearly not what she expected it to be. “With him? With me and your father? Your family?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. I’ve already said too much so why stop now?
“You know what, Carmen?” she scoffs. “If you’re going to act like a child, then I’ll treat you like one. You’re grounded.”
“For what?”
“For this attitude,” she snaps. “For the way you’ve been treating your brother, and for God knows what else you’ve been up to lately.”
“Oh, you don’t even know,” I chuckle dryly, shaking my head as I walk past her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I hear her ask but don’t bother replying as I head up the stairs. “Come back here, Carmen!”
I don’t answer again. I can’t. The words are stuck, trapped, whether I let them out or don’t because she won’t be able to hear them either way.
I continue to storm up the stairs and slam my bedroom door shut behind me. Tears blur my vision as I sink into the floor, pressing my back against the wall. My chest feels heavy, like I can’t breathe, and the lump in my throat only worsens as the silence stretches on.
They don’t get it. Felix, her, my dad. None of them understand what it’s been like to be me these past years. To be the forgotten child, the afterthought, someone to put the blame on and then ignore.
I’ve tried to get through to them, to get them to see me, it never worked so now I’m done with it. I’ve been done with it. Trying to be nice and do everything perfectly. That’s just not me anymore.
If Felix asked me to go get hot chocolate with him back when I was that Carmen, I would have jumped at the chance. And if our mum caught us arguing like that, I would have apologised right away.
But I can’t be like that anymore.
It didn’t help.
It didn’t get them to see me, to notice me.
A soft knock on the door meets my ears, pulling me out of my spiralling thoughts.
“Carmen?” Felix’s voice is quiet, hesitant.
I straighten up, swapping the lump in my throat. “What do you want?”
“I…” A sigh leaves him, “I just wanted to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” I reply, though my voice is anything but convincing.
He pauses for a moment, then adds, “We can watch a movie. Like we used to when we were kids. Remember?”
I do remember.
But I don’t give him an answer.
After a long silence, I finally hear his footsteps retreat down the hall.
I wait until the house feels still again before prying up the loose floorboard where I keep my stash. My fingers brush against the small bag of pills and I pull it out, holding it in my trembling hands.
I remember Jude’s words the day he gave me these, how he told me the many ways I can use these pills to my advantage.
Without thinking, I grab my student ID card from my desk and settle the pills onto the surface. Carefully, I crush them into powder, the repetitive motion almost hypnotic. My breathing slows, trying to calm myself down as I use the edge of my card to line the powder up neatly.
I hesitate for a moment, the lines blurring in front of me through the haze of my tears. Letting out a deep breath, I lean down and snort the first line.
It burns, sharp and fiery, but then a wave of numbness follows. The heaviness in my chest starts to lift and the edges of begin to blur, softening in a way that feels… safe.
Finally, I can breathe.
I let the last song sitting on my record player play again and the intro of Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want by The Smiths fills my ears as I fall backwards onto my bed.
The song plays softly, and I close my eyes, letting the numbness take over. But it’s not peace—not really. My mind drifts back to when I was younger, back when everything felt simpler, back before I started feeling invisible in my own home.
I remember when Mum used to sing along to old records in the kitchen, her laugh echoing through the house as Felix and I danced around her. I remember how she used to hold my face in her hands, telling me I was her sunshine on rainy days.
Back then, I believed her. I believed I mattered. But somewhere along the way, the laughter faded, the warmth disappeared, and now every word from her feels like a sharp edge meant to cut. I wonder when I stopped being her sunshine-when I became something she needed to control or fix instead of love.
The tears start to fall again, silently this time, slipping down my temples and into my hair. The numbness can’t stop them, and for a moment, I hate myself for how weak I feel. For not being enough.
I glance at the lines still on the desk, the neat precision of them mocking me. I wonder how many more I’ll need before this ache disappears entirely. How long it will take before I stop wanting to be seen—truly seen—by someone.
Because the truth is, I’m not sure who I am without the pills anymore.
[text_hash] => 04f57bfa
)