Page 8 of Press Play

Hidingin the corner of my bedroom, I wrap my blanket around myself, hoping if Mom peeks in, she won’t see me. WoSaF’s epic theme song fills the space, and as I enter my login information, I’m transported into another realm. My worries and tribulations melt away. My name is no longer Wren; it’s Aralin, Master of Fire. Here, I’m a force to be reckoned with, and no one can take that away from me. As the world comes to life around me, a familiar ding immediately makes me smile.

Glavnir:I was waiting for you :)

Me:Sorry, I was on a cleaning spree. Mom freaked out because I left a puzzle on the living room table.

Glavnir:The puzzle you’ve been working on for a week?

Me:Yeah, it’s fine.

Glavnir:Are you kidding me? You were going to glue it together when you completed it!

Me:It’s okay, real?—

Before I finish the message, the bedroom door opens and slams against the wall, making me shudder.

Mom strolls in, scanning the space with her judgmental stare. My attention lands on her, and she scoffs when her dull blue eyes meet mine. “I thought I asked you to clean the living room.”

“I did.”

“Did you vacuum?”

“I didn’t know you wanted me to. You said to clean off the table and straighten up the couch.”

“I told you to vacuum,” she huffs.

Thinking it over, I don’t recall her asking me to run the vacuum. My memory has been shot lately. Did I forget?

Without fighting, I place my computer on the floor and start to stand. “I’ll do it now?—”

When I straighten, I’m knocked back by a sudden rush of dizziness. I lean against the wall and close my eyes, willing the black spots to disappear.

While my head spins, Mom takes a step forward. “You can’t get up too fast.” She’s trying to sound caring, but it comes off as a lecture.

“Sorry,” I manage to say as I work on catching my breath. “I just. . . need a minute.”

“If you did it when I asked?—”

“I know!” I snap. My eyes shoot open, and regret claws up my spine.

Her cheeks turn red, her mouth opens slightly, and she makes a clicking noise with her tongue before letting out a tiny hum. Her tell when she’s angry.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean?—”

“Don’t talk back to me,” she hisses. “When I ask you to do something, do it. It’s that simple.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll do it right now.” I take a step forward, but my dizziness stops me. My hand flies to my chest, and the thumping pounds against my palm. I take in a shaky breath andpush myself forward. “Sorry,” I mumble as I pass her, and relief washes over me when she doesn’t respond.

With the vacuum’s handle in hand, I bend over to plug it in, and another wave of darkness fills my vision. My periods are under control, but my body is still recuperating. I’m sure my iron level and blood count are better, but it’s still not within normal range. I also haven’t eaten today. The cupboards are empty for me; there’s food, just nothing I can eat that won’t end in a stomachache—or worse.

“I can do this,”I repeat until I finish vacuuming the living room.

My sister’s laughter fills the air. While I’m out here, they’re safe behind closed doors, playing without a care in the world. Did Mom make them straighten up anything? Half of this mess is theirs to begin with. I’d be willing to bet the answer is no. Instead, I had to clean up the puzzle I’d been working on for days while they could leave little figurines and plastic toys all over the floor.

Is it possible to be at home but not feel like you belong? No one within these walls cares about me or my happiness. So, why do I care about them or what they think of me? Why do I worry about being a thorn in their sides? Why does it hurtsomuch?

When I get back down the hall to my room, I close the door and shut my eyes.

“They don’t deserve my tears,” I mumble. “Don’t cry.”

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