My brothers are screaming at me while I'm screaming at my mother while she's screaming at our grandmother over the phone while my little sister is crying in the corner. Time stops and I notice the expression upon everyone's face. That scowl, that disgusting red face filled with this callous madness underneath. Two faces, annoyed, shaking their heads frantically, pointing their fingers at me. A little girl by herself trying to divert the chaos away and bring stability into her life. And then, in that giant mirror that's been in the living room for my entire life, I see my face; and I see my mother reflected inside of it. Time moves again, and I find myself moving out of the way.
I stop arguing. I stop talking at all. I realize the cycle we're all stuck in. How we were all doing this just two hours ago. How I can't stop my mother no matter what I did. And in that moment, I swear, I thought about hitting her. Hurting her in any way. To stop this cycle. To stop her from hurting my grandmother. To stop her from hurting us. And I felt so disgusted with myself. But I wanted to hurt her, above all, so she could feel something, anything. Because underneath that mask of anger I could tell that she was nothing truly. There wasn't any love to be found there.
I go upstairs and I stay in my bed, and try to ignore her screaming, and my sister crying, and my little brothers arguing amongst themselves. Emptiness consumes me internally and I let go of reality. When I come back, it's dark outside and everyone's asleep in the house but me.
I stay in bed until the sun comes up.