an'

upposed to

ne nev

sharp clash of voices not music, not laughter, just another shouti

om's, tired and cracking, like a recor

en to the words anymo

use I hated giving them the satisfaction of knowing I was home. My feet moved on i

r

or behind me, I locked i

. Not really. Bu

the ceiling like it might give me answers it never had before. My p

room was different than

ence did

he flickering paint on the ceiling. There were cracks in i

ke

s, pretty face, endless parties, and a line of g

asked why I ne

ded the a

ithout music on, even

nded me that nothing

ol. Not the smiles from

ly not t

ns. She didn't love me. She didn't even like me. She liked be

ause it was easier

the chaos downstairs fade

imagined somet

rom me. A world where I didn't have to be Bryan Carter, the playbo

ught

r Mo

Sharp.

se when she looked at me, she didn't see what everyone e

feel like I

much I wanted to