The car ride felt endless. Every minute stretched longer than the last, the silence between us thick and heavy, as if the air itself was pressing down on my chest. Adrian’s grip on the steering wheel never loosened, his knuckles white, his jaw clenched tight. I kept my eyes fixed on the window, watching the world blur past, though I barely registered where we were going. It didn’t matter.

Everything felt hazy now. The depression that had wrapped itself around me like a dark fog seemed to tighten with every breath. I felt like I was sinking, deeper and deeper into something I couldn’t crawl out of. 

Eventually, Adrian pulled into a secluded parking lot near an old park. It was deserted. The playground was empty, swings swaying slightly in the breeze, and the quiet only made my heart race faster. He put the car in park and turned off the engine, but neither of us moved.

I could feel him staring at me, the weight of his gaze suffocating.

“Look at me,” he said quietly, his voice cold and commanding.

I hesitated, my hands trembling in my lap, before slowly turning to face him. His eyes were dark, his expression hard, the patience he’d been clinging to barely holding on.

“Why do you always do this?” he asked, his voice low but laced with anger. “Why do you push me away? You know I hate it when you disappear on me.”

“I wasn’t—” I started, but my voice cracked.

“Shut up,” he snapped, cutting me off. “Don’t lie to me.”

He reached out suddenly, grabbing the back of my neck, his fingers digging into my skin. The force of it made me gasp, my heart slamming against my ribs. His grip was brutal, his hand tightening as he pulled me closer, his face inches from mine.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” he hissed, his breath hot against my cheek. “You think I’m stupid? That I don’t notice how you’re pulling away from me?”

“I’m not,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “I’m not pulling away. I just—”

His other hand shot out, grabbing my wrist and yanking it forward, exposing the fresh bruise he had left earlier. His eyes flicked to the mark, his lips curling into a sneer.

“You see that?” he growled, his fingers tightening around my wrist until the pain shot up my arm. “That’s because of you. You make me do this.”

Tears burned in my eyes, but I blinked them back. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words coming automatically, hollow and meaningless. I didn’t know what else to say. Apologies were the only thing that seemed to calm him down, to make him let go. But even then, I knew it was never enough.

Adrian’s grip loosened slightly, but only because he was shifting his hand to grab my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. His fingers dug into my skin, bruising, as he pulled me closer.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he whispered harshly. “I’m the only one who cares about you. No one else is going to put up with your shit. Your brothers don’t even see you anymore, do they?”

I flinched at the mention of my brothers, a fresh wave of panic coursing through me. It wasn’t true—at least, not entirely. They cared, but I had been pulling away, keeping them at a distance so they wouldn’t see what was happening. But lately, I could feel their eyes on me, the way they watched me a little too closely, the unspoken questions in their stares.

They were starting to notice. Even Dad had been paying more attention, asking where I’d been, why I was coming home so late. I could feel the suspicion growing, and it terrified me.

“They don’t know anything,” I whispered, my voice shaky. “They don’t know.”

“They don’t care,” Adrian spat, his grip tightening. “They’re not here, are they? I am. I’m the one who’s always here.”

His words stung, digging deeper into the hole I was already sinking into. I felt trapped, both by him and by the overwhelming weight of my own thoughts. He was right about one thing—my brothers didn’t know the extent of it. How could they? I had become an expert at hiding everything. But hiding didn’t make it disappear. The emptiness, the heaviness that followed me everywhere—it was growing worse.

“I know,” I whispered, my throat tight.

“Good,” Adrian said, his voice softening slightly, but the edge of control still there. “Because I won’t let you forget it.”

He released my chin roughly and leaned back in his seat, his eyes flicking to my wrist again, then to my other arm, the one I had cut. His gaze darkened when he saw the faint outline of blood seeping through my sleeve.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, his voice sharp again.

I froze, instinctively pulling my arm closer to my chest. “It’s nothing,” I lied quickly. “I scratched myself.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled, grabbing my arm and yanking my sleeve up before I could stop him. The thin, fresh cut was exposed, the blood still fresh. His eyes widened for a moment, but not in shock. There was no concern in his gaze, only anger.

“What is this?” he demanded, his voice rising. “You did this to yourself?”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. My throat had closed up, the fear choking me as I stared at him, waiting for whatever came next.

“You’re so messed up,” Adrian hissed, shoving my arm away with disgust. “You really think hurting yourself is going to fix anything? You’re pathetic.”

His words hit harder than any blow could. I shrank back into the seat, feeling the tears spill over, but I didn’t try to wipe them away. What was the point? I was already broken. 

“Why do you do this?” he asked again, his voice quieter now, but still filled with cold fury. “Why do you always make things so hard?”

I didn’t have an answer. I didn’t know why anymore. I couldn’t explain the emptiness, the darkness that pulled at me constantly, making everything feel too heavy, too much. I couldn’t explain why I couldn’t just be normal.

Adrian sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “You’re lucky I haven’t left you yet,” he muttered. “No one else would put up with you.”

I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. His words echoed the same thoughts that had been swirling in my mind for weeks, months even. Maybe he was right. Maybe no one else would want to deal with me. Maybe I deserved this.

---

Later that night, I sat in my room, staring at the bruise on my arm, my other hand gently pressing against the fresh cut hidden beneath my sleeve. The pain had dulled, but the ache in my chest remained, constant and overwhelming.

Downstairs, I could hear my brothers talking, their voices muffled but familiar. They were all home, all together, probably watching TV or talking about their day. The house was calm, quiet, the kind of peace that felt foreign to me now. I wanted to go down there, to sit with them like I used to, but I couldn’t. The weight of everything was too much. If I went down there, they’d ask questions. They’d see the bruises. And what would I say?

And dad, he had been quieter lately, watching me closely with that cold, calculated gaze of his. He hadn’t hit me recently, but the tension was always there. Like he was waiting for an excuse. A wrong word, a wrong move—anything could set him off. And when it did, the consequences were always worse than I expected. The bruises took longer to heal, the nights lasted longer.

Just the thought of him sent a chill down my spine.

I glanced at the door, half-expecting him to come storming in. Sometimes he didn’t need a reason. Sometimes he’d just show up, pretending he needed to talk, and before I knew it, his hand would be on me—controlling, testing how much fear he could drag out of me. That fear kept me on edge all the time, and I knew if he found out about Adrian, it would set off a storm I couldn’t handle.

Dad had already been asking more questions lately. Subtle ones, at first. He’d asked about school, but his real interest was in where I was spending my time after class. Who I was with. His temper was like a bomb, always waiting to go off. And if he knew about Adrian...

I shuddered. I couldn’t let him find out. Not that way.

There was a sudden knock on the door, sharp and quick. My heart jumped to my throat, the familiar panic rising in my chest. For a second, I couldn’t breathe.

“It’s me,” Elijah’s voice called through the door, and I exhaled slowly, the fear receding slightly.

“Come in,” I said, my voice tight.

Elijah stepped inside, his expression concerned as usual. His eyes flicked over me quickly, taking in the tension in my body. I tried to relax, to act like everything was fine, but I knew he wasn’t buying it.

“Hey,” he said, sitting on the edge of my bed. “You didn’t come down for dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry,” I mumbled, avoiding his gaze. “I’ve just been tired.”

Elijah didn’t answer right away, but I could feel him watching me. I knew what was coming—the same question he had asked a few times now, the same suspicion I had been trying to deflect.

“You’ve been acting weird lately,” he said carefully, his tone soft but direct. “More than usual.”

I swallowed hard, feeling the walls closing in. “I’m fine.”

Elijah sighed, his hand running through his hair. “You’re not. I know something’s going on, and it’s not just school stress. I’m worried about you.”

“I said I’m fine,” I replied, my voice a little sharper than I intended. I winced, but I didn’t take it back. I couldn’t let him push me. Not tonight.

He looked at me for a long moment, his brow furrowed in concern. “Is it Dad?” he asked quietly. “Has he—has something happened?”

The question hit me like a punch to the gut, and I had to fight to keep my expression neutral. I knew Elijah had seen things. We all had. Dad was good at hiding his abuse in front of my brothers, but they weren’t blind. They knew how bad his temper could get, how violent he could be when the house was quiet, and there was no one else around but still they didn't know how far it could go.

But if I told Elijah the truth—if I told him how often it happened, or how close things had come to getting worse lately—he would confront Dad. And that terrified me more than anything. Dad’s abuse was controlled, calculated. But if he felt threatened by one of my brothers, I had no doubt it would explode into something far worse.

“No,” I whispered, shaking my head quickly. “It’s not Dad.”

Elijah didn’t look convinced. His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought he might press harder. But then he sighed and stood up, running a hand over his face.

“If something is happening, you can talk to me,” he said softly. “You don’t have to hide it.”

I nodded, though the lie sat heavy in my chest. “I know.”

He lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, then finally stepped out, closing the door behind him.

As soon as he was gone, the weight of everything crashed down on me again. Elijah’s suspicion was growing, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before he or one of the others started asking more questions. And if Dad caught on—if he even suspected they were digging into my life—it would only make things worse.

---

Later that night, after the house had gone quiet and everyone had settled into bed, I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The silence was oppressive, thick with tension. My mind wouldn’t stop racing, the fear clawing at me from every direction.

The bruises on my arm ached, but it was nothing compared to the heaviness in my chest. The depression had become so overwhelming that I felt like I was drowning. Each day felt harder than the one before, and even the brief moments of relief—like cutting—no longer made a difference. I didn’t know how much longer I could go on like this.

I pulled my sleeve up slightly, looking at the fresh cut on my arm. The blood had dried, but the sting was still there, a reminder of the panic that had consumed me earlier. For a brief moment, it had felt like I could breathe again, like the chaos in my head had quieted. But now the emptiness was back, stronger than ever.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the silence. I grabbed it quickly, hoping it wasn’t Adrian. But it wasn’t him.

It was Dad.

Come downstairs.

My heart dropped. The simple text felt like a command, one that I couldn’t ignore, despite every instinct urging me to stay put. I knew what this meant. It wasn’t the first time he had summoned me like this, late at night when everyone else was asleep. The conversations always started the same—calm, quiet—but they never ended that way.

I forced myself out of bed, my hands shaking as I pulled on my hoodie, covering the bruise on my arm. I opened the door as quietly as possible, hoping not to wake any of my brothers, and slipped down the stairs.

Dad was sitting in the living room, his posture relaxed, but I could feel the tension radiating from him. His eyes flicked to me as I stepped into the room, and for a moment, he just stared, his expression unreadable.

“Sit down,” he said, his voice calm but with that familiar edge.

I obeyed, sitting on the edge of the couch, my heart racing.

“You’ve been spending a lot of time out of the house lately,” he said, his tone casual, though I could sense the danger beneath the words. “With someone.”

I didn’t respond. My throat had gone dry, fear gripping me as I waited for the inevitable.

“I’m asking you a question,” he said, his voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “Who have you been seeing?”

I swallowed hard, my mind racing. If I told him the truth, if I mentioned Adrian’s name, I knew what would happen. His temper would explode, and I’d be caught in the crossfire. But if I lied—if he caught me lying—it could be even worse.

“Just a friend,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Dad leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “A friend? What kind of friend?”

My chest tightened, panic rising as I searched for something to say. But no words came. The fear had paralyzed me.

Dad stood up slowly, walking over to where I sat. His hand gripped my shoulder, his fingers digging into my skin painfully as he leaned down, his voice low in my ear. “You’re lying to me.”

I flinched, the familiar terror flooding my system. He didn’t need to shout to make me afraid. His anger was quiet, controlled. That was always the worst part—the way he could hurt me without even raising his voice.

“I’m not,” I whispered, my throat tight with fear.

“You better not be,” he growled, his grip tightening. “Because if I find out you’ve been keeping secrets from me, you’ll regret it.”

I nodded quickly, my heart racing in my chest. “I won’t,” I whispered, my voice barely holding together.

Dad finally released his grip, stepping back and straightening his posture. “Good.”

Without another word, he walked past me, heading toward the stairs. I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, until I heard his footsteps disappear into the hallway above.