I lie there, eyes smarting and fists clenched tight. I’m staring at the ceiling, everything now knotted and on high alert. She comes in and tells me that now? That’s the weekend done with then, just in case I’d been looking forward to it. Saying it’s only two nights and there’s nothing else we can do.
They can piss off. I’m not spending my whole life going back and forward like that and I’m not going there smiling. They just don’t get it at all, the way this leaves me raging shaky and kind of disturbed. I don’t even know this feeling. They just lump it all on and I’ve no say whatsoever.
Everything’s tense and my head starts to thump and it’s almost like nothing’s safe. I mean, what’s going to go next? Why not just leave me here in my room, with my stuff, in my time. It’s empty there. What do they think, I should have to split myself in two as well? Sliced down the middle just because they can’t sort things out. I won’t pretend anymore. They think everything’s fine, like I’m taking it well, and adapting, but they’ll see one day. There’s this term, broken homes, my mum went on about it once, of course it’s old fashioned and she hates it. But I’d bring it back. They’ll figure out one day how they broke my world. I wish I had choices at least. And I want to stay right where I am. Every day and every weekend because they are my weekends too.