Ava:

The walk from Milo's truck to my house feels endless, my heart nearly bursting out my chest with anxiety. Once I reach the front door, I take a deep, steadying breath and push it open. The house is dim, the only light coming from the muted TV casting flickering shadows across the room. My mom is slumped on the couch, her posture a picture of defeat. She grips a wine glass so full it's on the verge of spilling, her eyes staring vacantly at some point beyond the television.

"Mom?" I ask softly, slinking into the house and closing the door behind. The smell of liquor hits my nose, and I step more into the house to reveal the coffee table that is littered with empty bottles and shot glasses.

Slowly, my mom's eyes drag over to me. Her gaze is hollow, unseeing, as if she's looking right through me. When her eyes finally focus, recognition sharpens them- but it's not relief or concern I see there. It's anger, simmering just beneath the surface. I brace myself, breath catching in my throat, waiting for her to explode.

"Mom," I repeat, firmer this time, taking a cautious step towards her. "I'm so sorry about the glasses, I promise I can replace them. If you just give me some time, I'll get a job-"

She lurches to her feet suddenly, the wine glass still clutched in her hand, liquid sloshing dangerously over the rim. "Where were you?" She snarls, her words thick and slurred. She takes a stumbling step closer, and a few crimson drops of wine trail down her fingers and drip onto the carpet.

I swallow, shrugging weakly as I force a smile. "Just... at a friend's," I murmur, the word 'friend' tasting foreign on my tongue. It feels weird to say aloud, and my heart twinges at the thought of Milo. I called him my friend- does that mean he is one now? I guess so. He is my knight in shining armor... or something like that.

I can't help but let my mind wander, thinking about the way it felt being wrapped up in his arms; the way his warmth radiated through me in a way I haven't felt in so long. My cheeks heat at the memory. What if he took it the wrong way? What if he thinks I like him? Do I like him? I don't think so. I mean... given the chance to sleep with him, I probably would. But I'd sleep with most people- so does that mean anything? Does it really count as liking someone if I'd fuck them just because they're there?

I'm snapped back to reality by the cold sensation of liquid being flung at me. When I realize what's happening, I look down to Milo's shirt in horror. Big red splotches dye the white fabric, and it feels gross and sticky against my skin. My gaze slowly lifts to my mom's face, my shock rendering me speechless.

"You're a slut," she slurs, pointing the empty wine glass at me accusingly. Her eyes are wild, unblinking, the rims red and watery. "You're a slut, and you were sleeping at a guy's house. I just know it. Who was it? Flynn? Ryan? Addison? Jake?"

I almost want to laugh. Even in her drunken stupor, she managed to rattle off the names of a few guys I've mentioned before. Although, Addison is a girl, and I definitely haven't slept with her. Still, she's right about the other three, and that realization leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I'm suddenly aware of how deep her disdain for me goes.

"No!" I shake my arms out, trying to fling away the droplets of wine clinging to my skin, but the sharp aroma only intensifies, burning my nostrils. "And what the fuck, Mom?!"

Mom shakes her head, the movement sloppy and exaggerated due to her current state. "You think I wanted to waste a full glass of wine?" She asks, wobbling unsteadily. I can't help from rolling my eyes- leave it to my mother to flip this on me.

I swallow my frustration, the words bubbling up in my throat like acid. Instead, I force myself to take a deep breath. "I'm going to take a shower," I say through clenched teeth, my throat burning with the weight of my unshed tears. "Go lie down, Mom. I don't think you needed that glass of wine anyway."

She mutters something incoherent, but I ignore it. I guide her to her room despite her weak protests, the familiar ritual of taking care of her after she's two sheets to the wind playing out once more. I gently ease her down onto the bed, prying the empty glass from her fingers. She's practically hugging it to her chest, her knuckles white as if it's the last lifeline keeping her afloat.

The bathroom light flickers on, the fluorescent bulbs buzzing to life. I peel Milo's clothes off my body, the fabric clinging to my skin like a second layer, drenched and sticky with spilled wine. The sensation makes my skin crawl, and I want nothing more than to tear it off and scrub myself raw. I drop the shirt and pants to the tiled floor, the heavy thud of wet cloth hitting ceramic echoing through the room.

The cool air passes across my now naked body, and I shudder, turning on the shower so hot I might turn into a human seafood boil. As the shower heats, I grab my phone, my fingers trembling as I scroll through my contacts. When I land on Milo's name, I hesitate, my thumb hovering over the call button. How do I even tell him that his clothes are now ruined? Do I just apologize and offer to buy him new ones? Or do I tell him the truth: that I'm a mess, and no amount of borrowed shirts will ever fix that?

Sucking in a deep breath, I hit the button, bringing the phone to my ear. The dial tone rings in a steady, nerve-wracking rhythm. I brace myself, nerves tight and fraying, until—

"Hey," Milo's voice comes through, calm and steady, making my chest constrict with a strange combination of guilt and something else I can't quite name. "Everything alright with your mom?"

I give a short, humorless laugh, shaking my head. "She's passed out drunk in bed and it's..." I pull my phone from my ear to check the time, the numbers glaring back at me. "It's noon. So... That should tell you how it's going."

"I'm sorry," Milo says quietly, and I can hear his bed squeak in the background as he presumably plops down on it. "Uh... Do you need something? Uh, if you just talk to talk, that's fine too, but I didn't think... I didn't know... Uh, yeah. Heh. Yeah."

He rambles slightly, and a slow grin forms on my face. I typically have this effect on men. As my fingers dip into the running water to test the temperature, a wave of heat nearly scalds me. Perfect.

Once he's done with his word vomit, I say, "Well, in the process of me talking to my mom, she kinda... Threw her glass of wine at me. And because the shirt you gave me is white..."

"It's stained," he finishes, and I hear him sigh softly. "I can't believe she'd throw a glass of wine at you. Are you fine? I mean, I know it's just wine, but... That's truly awful."

I laugh again as I set my phone on a dry spot in the shower, putting it on speaker phone. I hop in, nearly groaning as the hot water hits my cold, sticky skin. "I'm fine," I promise, letting the water hit my hair and back. The heat burns away the sticky residue on my skin, and I imagine it washing away the last few days of chaos. "Sorry about your shirt..."

"Why do you sound like you're in a Rainforest Cafe?" Milo asks after a moment, and I can practically see the puzzled look on his face.

"I'm in the shower," I say with a giggle, starting to wash my hair, moving my fingers in small circles over my scalp, trying to get out the wine residue. "Sorry, I'll let you go. I just... I'm really sorry again. I'll buy you a new one."

Milo doesn't speak for a while, and I think he's hung up, before his voice comes through the phone again. "Don't worry about it," he says, his voice low and strained. "Uh, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay..." I mumble, a little thrown off by the intensity in his tone. But before I can say more, the call ends with a sharp beep, leaving me alone with the sound of the rushing water. I frown, staring at the phone screen, a strange sense of emptiness lingering in the wake of his abrupt departure.

That was... weird. But then again, Milo's a weird guy. I don't know what else I expected.

My mom sleeps for most of the day, getting up once to ask what's going on before throwing up all over the floor. I look down at the floor, my stomach churning as I realize that I'm going to have to be the one to clean it up.

"Back to bed, Mom," I say gently, walking her back to her bedroom. She stumbles over herself, nearly pulling us both down under her dead weight.

I wish I could say this was an unusual occurrence, but this has become weekly. It used to only be a few times of the month she would get this blasted, but recently it's increasing in frequency. I worry I might walk in and find her dead one of these times.

Once I've heaved her back onto the bed, I collapse beside her, the mattress dipping under our combined weight. I reach out, brushing the damp baby hairs from her sweaty forehead. She blinks up at me, her face crumpling with a small, pitiful frown, eyes barely open.

"I miss your dad," she whispers, her voice so fragile it's almost lost to the silence around us. It's like a punch to the gut, and I feel my heart splinter into a thousand unfixable pieces.

"Me, too," I murmur back, my voice even softer than hers. I keep stroking her hair, the repetitive motion doing little to calm the storm brewing inside me. "I'm sorry..."

"It's not your fault," she manages, though her words are still slurred and uneven, even after all these hours. "I shouldn't have slept with his boss..."

The world screeches to a sudden halt. My hand freezes mid-stroke, and I slowly pull back, staring at her like she's some kind of stranger. "Wait... What?" My voice is barely above a whisper, the shock making it hard to push the words out. "But... you told me you never knew why Dad left?"

She laughs- this cold, hollow sound that chills me to the bone. Tears shimmer in her eyes, glistening in the dim light. They're barely visible in the darkened room, the only illumination coming from the faint glow of the nightlight in the hallway.

"I lied," she sings, the pitch of her voice high and sharp. She sounds almost deranged, and it makes me recoil further away from her. "I can't live with this guilt anymore... Everyone thinks it was you, but... He fucking loved you. More than me. I couldn't stand it. I had to make him hurt..."

Each word hits me like a sucker punch, leaving me gasping for air. "You were... jealous of me? So you cheated on Dad?" My head spins, thoughts crashing into each other, splintering off into jagged fragments. "Why... Why?!"

My voice grows louder and louder, until it's echoing through the tiny room, nearly breaking. Mom crumbles into a sobbing mess, her body trembling violently on the bed. I stagger backward, fury coursing through me like I've never felt before. When Milo was an asshole, or Riley called me fat, it made me mad, but this? This is rage. Unfiltered, white-hot, soul-consuming rage.

"You let everyone believe it was me!" I scream, jabbing a finger into my chest, feeling like I might split in two. My voice breaks, cracking on the last word. "You made me think it was my fault! And... and it was because you couldn't keep your fucking legs closed?!"

She just lets me shout at her, her shoulders quaking with silent sobs. I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palms to keep from doing something I'll regret. I stumble back, putting as much distance between us as I can in this tiny space, desperately swallowing the lump choking my throat.

"Ava..." Mom finally manages, her voice so small I can barely hear it over the storm raging in my head. "I'm sor-"

"Shut up!" I scream, slapping my hands over my ears and shaking my head furiously to get rid of her voice. Her words cut like a sharp blade slicing through my skull, and all I can think is that I wish she was the one who left instead of Dad. "Why... Why did he never reach out then? If it wasn't my fault, why didn't he try to get in touch with me?"

Mom's bottom lip trembles, her eyes bloodshot and glossy. "I told him you wanted him gone," she confesses hesitantly, her words barely audible, like she's afraid of them. "When he asked why I cheated, I said it was because of me and you; because we wanted a new life... one away from him. I didn't expect him to... actually leave."

I let out an ear-piercing, soul-shattering scream, years of pent-up rage and sadness erupting from deep within me. It tears through the silence like a knife, raw and feral, a release I didn't even know I needed. My mom recoils, clamping her hands over her ears this time and curling into a small, pathetic ball on the bed.

"Ava-" she tries, her voice a weak, pleading murmur, but it's utterly drowned out by my banshee-like shrieks.

All this time, all these fucking years spent asking why- blaming myself for something I didn't even do. Nearly a decade of believing it was my fault, of being haunted by guilt that shouldn't have been mine to bear, only for it to be her doing all along.

"I hate you," I spit, tears scorching my cheeks as they spill freely, the salty taste bitter on my tongue. My throat burns from the force of my screaming, but I don't care. I don't care about anything right now. "I hate you!"

My feet move of their own accord, propelling me out of her room, and I slam the door behind me so hard the walls rattle. It reverberates through the house, punctuating the end of a chapter I never thought would close. The air in my room is thick and suffocating, every breath a struggle. But I know it's not just my room- it's the entire house. The very place I grew up in is choking me, wrapping around my throat like an invisible noose. I need to get out, to escape, to be anywhere else.

I yearn for Lexi's comforting presence or, hell, even Milo's awkward attempts at conversation would be better than this crushing silence.

I collapse onto my bed, my limbs heavy and useless. The anger and anguish that once fueled me have now bled out, leaving behind a hollow, empty shell. I'm numb- feeling like a completely different person than I was moments ago. This is going to wreck me. This is wrecking me.

Wait until my therapist hears about this shit. How many years of therapy did I put myself through, reprogramming my brain, rewiring my thoughts so the guilt wouldn't consume me, wouldn't eat me alive? And now I have this earth-shattering revelation, a bomb dropped on the carefully constructed rubble of my self-image. It's going to take me just as long to unpack this, if not longer.

Claire is going to get a vacation to the Bahamas strictly funded by our sessions.

I stare blankly at the ceiling until my eyes burn from exhaustion. My whole body feels weighed down, dragging me into the mattress, pulling me deeper and deeper. I don't even notice when sleep finally takes over, the day's horrors slowly dissolving into the cool embrace of oblivion.

The next few days pass by in a blur, my mind a jumbled mess, unable to focus on anything- or anyone. Lexi doesn't ask many questions. She simply lets me stay at her place, settling me into the guest room right next to hers, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. It's almost becoming a semi-permanent arrangement at this point, one I didn't think I'd need so often. Her parents, too, barely bat an eye. They've seen the bruises, the late-night breakdowns. They're no strangers to the horrors I've endured growing up with my mom.

Hell, Lexi skipped out on going to that fancy private school she'd been accepted to just so she could stay close by, always one call away if things went south at home.

When I finally broke down and told them what my mom had revealed, they didn't know what to say. Even Lexi, usually so quick with a comforting word or a sarcastic jab, looked completely shell-shocked. The silence that followed hung heavy, like a thick fog that wouldn't dissipate.

They were stunned- just as I had been. How could you process something like that? How could you put into words the betrayal, the anguish, the utter deconstruction of everything you thought you knew?

So we didn't try. Instead, they just did what they do best: took me in, surrounded me with quiet support, and let me be. Lexi's parents deserve a humanitarian award for how fucking incredible they are.

The morning of my birthday starts like any other day, the soft light of the sun filtering through the cashmere curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. It's a Wednesday, which means I face the dismal reality of school. Thankfully, nobody has bothered me these last couple of days. Milo has given me the space I desperately needed, yet he remains a silent force, always there when I need him, a reassuring presence in the chaos of my life.

With a reluctant sigh, I roll out of bed, slipping my feet into the cozy slippers I "borrowed" from Lexi's expansive closet. The grand staircase looms before me as I shuffle down into the kitchen, where the delicious smell of breakfast fills the air. Kit, the Grayson's personal chef, is a whirlwind of activity at the stove, a myriad of pots and pans bubbling away in a chaotic symphony.

She glances up at me, her face breaking into a wide smile, the sweat glistening on her brow. "Morning!" she chirps cheerfully, her voice brightening the otherwise quiet morning as she calls out for the Grayson family.

In walks Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, Lexi in tow, each of them bearing two colorful gift bags in their hands. They begin singing "Happy Birthday," and my heart swells at the gesture, warmth flooding my chest. My mom would have likely yelled at me to get the hell up and hurry to school, completely forgetting my birthday. It wouldn't be the first time.

Kit ushers me to the table, presenting my favorite breakfast with dramatic flair- eggs Benedict, crispy home fries, and an extra sweet caramel latte that promises to wake me up. I can't help but think about how many calories this plate must be, and remind myself that it probably won't stay in my stomach for long anyway.

I can't help the tears that prick my eyes, quickly whisking them away as my other family places my gifts around me, a colorful array of love and thoughtfulness. "Thank you," I manage to whisper, my voice trembling as I fight back the flood of emotions. "You didn't have to."

"Of course we did," Mr. Grayson replies, ruffling my already messy hair with a playful grin. "You're our favorite daughter, after all." He grunts as Lexi elbows him in the stomach, shooting him a sharp glare. "Oh, sorry, second favorite daughter." When Lex isn't looking, he winks at me, and we share a conspiratorial laugh that warms my heart.

Kit clears the gifts from the table and serves Lexi and her family as well. Mrs. Grayson leans in, her voice dripping with kindness as she tells us we don't have to go to school today; instead, we're taking a quick day trip to Vermont. Excitement bubbles up within me, and I eat some breakfast, giggling gleefully as the presents are replenished in front of me.

The gifts vary wildly- new clothes, expensive shoes, sparkling jewelry, a brand new iPhone, and even tickets to see Sabrina Carpenter. I'm utterly speechless, overwhelmed by a wave of gratitude for the Grayson's and their unwavering generosity.

Mom has yet to reach out after our explosive fight, and I'll be damned if I'm the first one to break. So we remain locked in a silent battle, one that I fear may last for a very, very long time.