Imagine a house, broken and empty, like a shell of something that was once alive. That's the best I can explain it. The owners left it to someone who doesn't even know how to care for it. But I can't afford to be selfish—I have to take care of this place. I have to take care of my siblings. But god, I'm so tired.
The house is a mess, like always. My parents are gone—again. Arguing somewhere, or not, or maybe just... existing without really existing. There's a pile of mail at the front door. Red notices, but no one's here to read them. Not that they'd care if they did. White powder is spread out on the living room table—probably something they'll forget to clean up, something I'll have to scrub away later.
Dad's not here, not right now. He's off somewhere, probably drunk, or maybe still in bed. But the evidence is everywhere—empty bottles, dirty clothes, and the faint smell of something stale in the air. Mom's probably off with him, wherever he is, doing god knows what.
I stand in the doorway of the living room and look at the couch, the one that's never clean. The cushions are dented from years of sitting and throwing fits. There are beer bottles on the floor like broken promises. The TV's on, but no one's watching it. It's just noise, like everything else around here.
Luna and Luner don't even ask about Mom and Dad anymore. They don't wonder where they've gone off to or why they haven't been around. They don't know what "normal" looks like, and I guess that's for the best. But I know. I feel the emptiness when they're gone.
I move to the kitchen. The sink's full of dishes—dishes that shouldn't have been left for days, but I don't even know when the last time was that anyone ate here. There's food moldy and stuck to the counter, flies buzzing around it. I don't even flinch anymore; it's just something I've learned to ignore. But I can't ignore the smell. Not today.
The air feels thick, heavy with something I can't quite place. I grab a trash bag, clean up the mess, throw away everything that's gone bad. I'm not surprised there's always more to clean. More to fix. I make something for dinner, even though I don't have the energy. I have to make sure Luner and Luna eat—at least they're still young enough to believe they'll be okay, even when everything around us is falling apart.
--
It's a Sunday morning, 6:32 a.m., and I'm already awake. I don't even need an alarm. I have no choice but to take care of things. I can't even sleep, not knowing what's waiting for us. I don't want them to grow up thinking this is normal, thinking this is how families are supposed to be. I want to take them outside today—maybe the park, or the library so they can at least pretend there's something good in the world.
I walk into the room where they're awake, sitting in their beds. I stand by the door and listen for a moment.
"I wish we had a pretty house," Luna says, the words tumbling out before she even realizes what she's saying. "Not this one. And we could go on vacations, not be stuck here. Mom and Dad don't even care. They're always out, doing stuff that makes no sense. Sniffing that white powder and drinking those bottles that are always on the floor. You always tell us not to touch it. But what's the point? They don't even care about us. They don't even care about you, Juniper. You're always taking care of us. They never do."
I want to say something to make it better, but I can't. I don't even know where to begin. She's right. Mom and Dad don't care. They never have. I'm the one who holds this family together—though it feels more like I'm just trying to stop it from completely falling apart.
But they don't know that. They just see me as the person who always does what they ask, who makes sure they eat, who makes sure they don't get hurt. And that's fine. I don't care if I'm the bad guy or the good guy. I'll do whatever it takes to make sure they're okay. Even if it means staying up all night, doing things that should be someone else's job.
I can't be their mom, but I'll be whatever I need to be to protect them.
I open my mouth, just to close it again. I breathe out, trying to ground myself, but it doesn't work. I can't breathe, not properly. Everything feels like it's closing in. I walk over to Luna and sit beside her, forcing a smile. I know it's weak, but I have to do it for her. For both of them.
"Let's just ignore Mom and Dad," I say, my voice a little more steady than I feel. "If they don't care about us, then why should we care about them? Once we're able to leave this house, we'll take off. We'll go on vacations. Get nice, fancy cars. We'll be free."
I pull them into a tight hug, holding them as though I could shield them from everything that's gone wrong. I'm not sure if I believe the words I just said, but I have to keep lying. For them.
"I'll get us out of here. Don't worry."
--
It's now Wednesday.
Mom and Dad still haven't come home. I can't say I'm complaining about the silence. But it feels wrong. There's a thickness in the air. A tension I can't shake.
I walk to the front door, reminding myself that Luna and Luner are out with their friends at the park, so at least they're safe, out of all this. I unlock the door and step inside, hit immediately with the same rusty smell that fills this house every day. It sticks to the walls like the memories of what we used to be, like something long forgotten but never quite gone.
I place my things on the counter, ready to ignore everything else, pretend like it's all normal. But something catches my eye. Sitting on the counter, out of place. I almost walk away but then stop. I didn't put anything there.
A big pile of cash.
I freeze.
A note sits on top of the money, crisp and neat.
I rip it open, and my eyes scan the words:
"Here's some money. We're not coming back."
-Your parents.
The words blur as they repeat in my head. No coming back, not coming back, no coming back, no coming back.
A sick laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest. My mind scrambles, trying to make sense of it, but I can't. I hear the words over and over like a broken radio. They never come back. They never will. It's all I've ever known, but somehow it still fucking hurts.
I can't stop myself.
"GOD FUCKING DAMN IT, YOU WORTHLESS MOTHERFUCKERS!"
I hurl the paper across the room. It crumples in the air, landing like a deflated balloon on the floor. My chest heaves, my heart pounding in my ears. I collapse onto the stairs, head in my hands, breathing like I can't catch my breath.
The words play on a loop in my head. They're not coming back. They're not coming back. They're not coming back.
A broken radio, a broken family.
And all I can do is sit here and listen to it until it drives me mad.
--
Luna and Luner are back, and by some miracle, I've calmed myself down. The rush of anger is still there, like a hum in the background, but I've buried it under the weight of everything else. I don't want to let them see me like that. I don't want them to know what's really happening. They've been through enough already.
I haven't told them about the note. I don't want them to carry that burden too. They deserve to be free from this mess, even if it's just for a little while longer. If I can keep it together long enough to get them to a better life, I'll do whatever it takes. I'll get them out of here, and they'll never have to worry about any of this.
I've already started making plans. The money—of how much it is—will be enough to get them into a different high school in another state. Somewhere away from this. Somewhere they can start fresh. I know they'll love it. I know it'll help them find their path, find something they're good at. I'll do this for them.
I'll make sure they have a future.
"Juniper, there's someone at the door," Luner calls from the kitchen.
I nod, not looking up from the stove. "Okay, keep stirring the soup, alright? Don't let it burn."
I tell him and start walking towards the door I put my hand on the handle and before I turn to open it and breathe.
I look up answer the door to a group of three guys.