“He’s leaving.”
Perking up, I lean to the side and peer out the window overlooking my front yard. Sure enough, Dad’s car swerves across the lawn before speeding down the street.
“I should go home,” I say.
“Of course. But remember what I said earlier, Noya. My home is always open to you.”
I nod, not confident enough to answer her. Mrs Crawford’s kindness is enough to show she is a wonderful, caring person.
A scene playsin my head as I open the door to my home. I should have known that leaving my belongings unguarded would have this effect. My door is off its hinges and leans against the wall beside the entrance to my room.
He tore my school papers, assignments, artworks and art books and scattered them across the living room. My clothes are like a trail of breadcrumbs leading me to devastation.
I place my hands over my mouth to hide the horror from spooling out. Dad broke my bedframe, flipped my mattress, and shattered my mirror. Pieces of glass litter my room.
Dropping to my knees, I grab my school bag and look inside. My wallet is gone.
I bow my head into my hands and struggle to keep it together.This isn’t normal. None of this is normal. Everything I loved. All the drawings…
I touch the ripped paper of the tree I drew yesterday.
He ruined everything.
The door beside my room closes. I jump at the sound, then rise and make my way to my parents’ bedroom. “Mum? I say as I knock. “Mum, what do I do? He ruined everything.”
“Noya…” Mum says, her voice cracking. “Clean your room before your dad comes home.”
I sniff.
“Where did you go last night?” She says when I am about to open my mouth and tell her where I want, only to be left speechless. “I need you here.”
I close my mouth and bite my lower lip. Without a word, I make my way into my room. I don’t want to act violently because it reminds me of my dad. Her words hurt because I know I’m the scapegoat in her mind. The one that will be the decoy. The bludgeoned punching bag.
I wish I had never gone to her room, so that I could imagine a caring mum.
So I could imagine a mum who wanted to protect me, but out of fear, she stood frozen and watched. Not this…person. I’m not her relief. And to hear her think of me like that, and not as someone she should protect, hurts me so much that I wish I weren’t here.
I have no family. No love. Nothing I yearned for. And the more I stand here and stare at a torn-apart room, the more I feel like falling. No one will care. No one would blink if I left.
My phone vibrates, and as I look at the screen, all those negative thoughts die from the simmering pot about to boil over.
Conner: Morning, Noya. Did you end up getting to sleep?
At least there is one person out there who will miss me.
The front dooropens while I stack most of the artwork and assignments in a pile. I flinch, clutching the paper tightly as the footsteps draw closer.
“Noya,” Dad says in a firm voice. “Get the groceries from the car and bring them in.”
“Okay.”
I avoid eye contact as I rise and sidestep Dad hovering at my door. As I leave the house, I round the car to the back. He packed the boot full of food…and bread.
Dad used all my money. I saw it decrease in my bank until I was only left with $7.23 to my name. All that hard work and savings vanished because I was foolish not to grab my wallet from my bag before I jumped out the window.
Grabbing two of the bags, I enter the home as Dad turns to me from the chair. “I called your friend last night—Samantha.” My shoulders jerk when I grab the box of pasta and place it on the dining room table. “You weren’t at her place. So then I called Andy.” I set another box of pasta down on the table. “He told me you might be with your friend…Conner.”
A hollow breath escapes my parted lips at the betrayal of my childhood friend—the one who claims he’s my best friend. The one who knows what Dad is like sucker-punched me in the gut.