Noxious

8 | don't wanna feel

Rowan

I exited the supermarket through the sliding doors.

My backpack was heavy on my shoulders and I kept my thumbs hooked under the straps to keep them from slipping off. I passed a woman and her child, and they both smiled my way. I returned a small smile and continued. I just looked like a normal high schooler. 

No one knew how much I stole from this place. 

It wasn't like I had a choice either. With my mom refusing to go to work, we were at risk of losing everything. We didn't have food, and if we did, it was because I did exactly what I was doing now. I stole food. 

I had gotten good at it, too, and I knew where the cameras were. Not that I would ever be proud of being forced to commit a crime because of my own selfish mother. 

When I reached home, I walked into the kitchen to find her waiting. 

"Where have you been?" She asked. 

"Out, I guess," I shrugged. 

That was a wrong move. 

My backpack zipper tore and everything inside spilled out onto the kitchen floor. I stood there, with my lighter fluid and matches scattered among the items of food. I briefly closed my eyes. 

"Is that what I think it is?" She asked, calmly. Too calm, in my opinion, because she was never calm about anything in her life. "Rowan, start talking." 

"No, Mom--" 

"Yes, it is!" She shouted, "Do you think I'm stupid?" She knelt down and grabbed my fire supplies, holding them up accusingly, "You're starting fires again! All the evidence is right here! Is that why you don't come home until late?" 

I never told her about Milo. She wouldn't care. "No," I sighed. 

"Liar! You're always lying to me! I thought we talked about this. You agreed to go to therapy every Friday and you said you would stop!" 

That was months ago and you've gotten worse, Mom, I thought silently. 

"Is therapy not helping you?" She continued, her voice rose an octave and I knew she was getting close to blowing up. It happened a lot during any kind of confrontation. "Have you been skipping therapy?"

I was silent for a solid minute. Her eyes raved over me, I swore she looked crazy right then.

"I can't go to therapy," I finally replied. Not that I ever believed therapy worked, I didn't think anything could help me. Especially when my best friend was dying.

"Why not?"

"I can't go because you stopped paying for it," I said with an edge in my tone, "Therapy is expensive, or have you forgotten? Do you even realize there's no money because you keep using it all up on stupid shit?"

"Don't lie to me!" She screeched, "I bet you're using it for drugs. You're probably sneaking it out of my account behind my back and then blaming me for it, aren't you?"

Drugs? That the best thing she could come up with?

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose, "You don't have any money, mom. We've never had any money since you left Dad!"

"Your father left us! He left me!"

"Because you cheated on him! Not once, but twice! Why would he stick around when you wouldn't stay with him, huh?"