I walk through the front door and I see everyone’s eyes on me. I cast my gaze down to the floor. I memorize every spot on the carpet and I start to develop a story on how those stains got there.

Don’t look at them, look at the stains.

I move away from the door, keeping my eyes on the stained carpet. I know that my family is still watching me.
Don’t look at them, look at the stains.
 

“Melissa.” My mom is the first one to speak. I don’t look up. “Melissa.” My mom repeats, a little bit more forcefully this time.

Don’t look at them, I keep thinking. Look at the stains.

I make my way over to the stairs. I hear the drone of the fish tank filter echo through the house. “Melissa. Melissa, please say something.” My mom pleads. I don’t say anything.

Don’t look at them, Look at the stains.
 

The stained carpet disappears from my vision. Instead, I see hardwood stairs that need to be smoothed out. I climb up the stairs. They creak and groan with every step I take, and the sound rings in my ears. “Melissa,” my mom calls. “Melissa come back. Please.” I hear her voice break, signaling that she is crying. I ignore and continue my journey.

It’s their fault, I tell myself. It’s all their fault.

I twist the knob to my bedroom door and step in. I finally look up and see a disorganized room. The state of my room would normally bother me, but it didn’t today. I close my door and stomp over to my bed, making sure my family could hear my footsteps from the floor below me. I fall onto my bed and stare at the plain white ceiling. The only noise I hear is the slow beat of my heart. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.

I close my eyes and let the salty tears roll down my face. I try to think of things that will make me happy, that will make me forget my pain. But nothing flies into my brain. And at that moment, I realize something. I was never going to be happy again.