Stop it.

“Get the fuck back there and talk to her,” I say.

You yell at me, but go.

I soon hear yelling, crying, accusations that are pointless.

My brother’s out in the cold and rain, just to escape.

No one was there for me when this happened.

But I can be there for him. I can help him escape.

“Get your coat,” I say.

“We’re leaving,” I say.

He doesn’t say anything, but gets his coat and gets into the car.

I drive off. Do I feel guilty? No.

“I just need a break,” I say. I’m not mad.

I’m disgusted, fed up, tired.

But I’m no longer helpless.

I drive for an hour for a respite, to a peaceful home.

You call as I pull into the driveway. You don’t sound mad, but sad.

You tell me to come home when I’m ready. I’m not ready, but I come anyway.

I want to believe I’m going to a peaceful home, like the one I’m denying myself.

I know I’m not.

“I wanted to do what no one could for me,” I say.

He just nods. He knows. We both understand.

They don’t look up as we come in. She asks me not to do that again.

I don’t promise not to. I only shrug.

They act as if nothing happened.

As if they didn’t drive their children out of their house.

I cry that night. I want someone with me, but no one’s here.

No one’s coming.

I need to bear it alone, as I always do. Nothing will change.

Maybe I’ll drive away again soon, maybe not. I don’t know.

“I can do this,” I say.

I lied.