-Bennett-

I frowned into the obscurity of the living room, taking a reluctant step inside before closing the door behind me. The awry creaking of the faded, brown door served as the sole announcement of my return, a faint sound accompanying my weary breathing before I turned around and stumbled past the couch.

Coming back had been harder tonight.

Despite an already wavering resolve, I'd somehow managed to climb onto the last bus of the night. But everything after that felt like fragments of moments I was still trying to piece together. The house had felt farther away, in spite of the route being the same. And once I stepped out onto the usual bus stop near my house, the pavement seemed to stretch out into a void with no clear destination.

The streets had all drifted into loops of cognate unfamiliarity under the dimness of the late night, blending into an endless cycle of self-sabotage; it was my own procrastination come to fruition out of sheer willfulness, leading me astray. And I just let it happen.

I'd felt disoriented despite recognizing every street name, and my hands had gripped so tightly to the straps of my backpack as I walked by. Perhaps I'd just wanted to get lost... once and for all. Maybe then it'd stop feeling like this. So bitter and empty.

So, I let myself amble for as long as I physically could, clinging on to the knowledge that there was nothing waiting for me at the end of the line.

Counting on it, really.

Despite the bone-deep fatigue assailing my body, I'd roamed about for what felt like hours, wandering past my house a few more times before mustering up the courage to walk up the driveway where the parked red pick-up truck rested. By then, my chest didn't have that familiar tightness, though my legs were still burning with every stubborn step.

Eventually, once it all had dimmed down as they turned in for the night, I finally approached the lawn; I peered up at the windows cautiously, willingly serving as the antithesis of a moth. This wasn't my moon, yet my movements seemed to mirror its will all the same.

Still, I'd wandered in spite of it, not through its guidance.

I liked to remind myself of this every so often, as trivial as it may seem. Even if I could still feel a thin thread tying me back to the very foundation, stuck under feet of wood and concrete. It was still a warm reminder that my instinct wasn't that of mindless trust. That I was stuck, but not oblivious to it.

My eyes would glaze over every time I walked past, realizing I'd gone in another loop that led me right back. Because at the end of the day, this was what I boiled down to.

I didn't know much else.

The fury filling my lungs would still dissipate by morning, just as it always did. And I would be okay, or some twisted semblance of it.

I had to be.

My fingers had grazed across the cool metal as I stumbled past my father's red clunker, glancing up at the dwelling with a disdain that I hadn't quite expected. I'd released a shaky sigh while pressing my fingers flesh against the side of the truck, wishing they could pierce deep into the metal as I went.

A warning punctuated by resentment.

---

I was still standing there, aimlessly basking in the quiet of the living room, when I heard the soft sound of someone clearing their throat. I blinked slowly, nervously peering deeper into the house.

Still, it took a few more steps before I realized who was there.

"Mom?" I called out under my breath, faintly discerning the petite frame of my mother sitting at the end of the dining room table, her head turned away from me.

I was thinking too much, even now, as I approached the table and settled down beside her. My mom reached out, silently asking for my hand before taking it into hers, warm and gentle. And they just held me there, in place, providing a meager sense of comfort after a long night.

"It's late," she pointed out. It was dark enough that I could only somewhat discern her expression, but I could picture her thin brows knitted into a deep, concerned frown. She didn't seem very pleased, despite her even tone.

I stared dumbly, unsure of how to respond. It was rare for her to be up this late. Occasionally, sleep evaded her deep into the night, but that wasn't this. For if it were one of those nights, I would've found her sipping on some steaming cinnamon and clove tea, and curling her hands around the mug while she drank in small, frequent sips.

She'd been waiting for me.

"Sorry, Mom," I apologized sincerely, lowering my head and languidly pressing it against my outstretched arm, our hands still linked. I released a feeble breath, focusing on the comforting graze of her thumb rubbing across the back of my hand in circular motions.

"You shouldn't be out so late."

"I know."

"Especially when I can't reach you."

"I'm sorry."

My mother patted my hand, unimpressed by my inability to elaborate. But in that moment, there was not much left of me there. I stared into the dark of the living room, now an empty void where I'd just crossed by a furnished room. In that moment, it all felt so hopeless. I tried not to think of Riley's words, but they kept poking at me, incessant and true.

"What's wrong?"

I mustered a shrug, blinking hard at the sudden, irritating stinging in the corners of my eyes. It felt selfish to say anything that would add to her worry, so I didn't. "Long day," I explained quietly, which wasn't necessarily a lie. I was my mother's child, after all.

"Did you eat already?"

I didn't reply.

"Hmm?"

"Mhm."

"Can I heat you up some leftovers?" she asked anyways.

I could feel my shoulders starting to shake, my eyes shutting tightly as she let go of my hands and withdrew into the kitchen. I focused on the faint shifting of metal clinging against porcelain, of drawers opening and closing. There was also the sharp beeping of the microwave, and... eventually, the approaching footsteps that twisted my stomach into knots.

Mom didn't say anything when she returned, settling back down beside me. I could hear the thud of a bowl being set on the table, but I didn't look up. I didn't realize I was crying until I felt her soft fingers wiping some of the tears away, her hands so much warmer now as they caressed my cheek.

"Ay, mi bebe..."

I just let her stroke my hair while burying my face further against my arm, unable to meet her gaze. Perhaps it was guilt. Or maybe it was just the knowledge that a single look would tear me apart. I should've come home earlier. How long had she been waiting for me?

How could I have known she would wait this time?

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I didn't.

She didn't push, which I was grateful for. And when I peered up, sometime later, she just reached into her pocket while flashing me a weak smile. Then, she stealthily pressed something against my palm. It was cool and small. I glanced down curiously, realizing it was my phone. My head shot up, eyes widening in disbelief.

"Mom," I whispered apprehensively.

My mom just waved me off, snickering to herself. She didn't give any explanation either, merely leaning her head against my shoulder and releasing a tired sigh. "Text me when you're going to be late," she replied into the quiet of the room. "Alright?"

I nodded my head slowly, my heart pounding hard against my chest. "Does he know?"

Surprisingly, she released a weak laugh at the mention, shaking her head before glancing towards the stairways, watching it intently before turning back to face me. "He told me to throw them away. He's so—" she stopped herself, releasing an exasperated sigh. "I don't like when he gets like this."

The words left her mouth with a glint of incredulity, as if this wasn't just like him. Sometimes I wondered, fearfully, if I'd just been born too late to meet anyone better in his stead. Or if I was the one that soured him into this pathetic excuse for a man. But in that moment, all I could do was nod my head in feigned agreement. This was more than I could've asked for, really.

"I left your laptop in your closet," she continued, laughing giddily to herself, like this was all some harmless, elaborate prank we were playing on him together. Like there wasn't a danger in having deceived him so brazenly. I felt myself shudder. "Inside one of the boxes of winter clothes. The middle one, I think."

I breathed out, chuckling weakly in turn. I needed to be careful when I used it. I couldn't let him know she'd handed it back. No fucking way in hell.

"Thank you, Mom," I muttered, tearing up once more. "I'll try to come home earlier."

She just shook her head, hastily wiping my tears away before shifting the bowl closer to me, huffing under her breath in feigned indignation. "It's going to get cold."

I nodded my head, compliantly taking the fork in my shaky hand and taking a bite of the warm food, savoring the relief in her expression at having eaten a single ravioli. I nodded my head agreeably before taking another bite. If only I could wipe all her worries away...

---

A/N: Thank you for reading.