The Stadium's Star [COMPLETE]

Chapter 21

As I pack my suitcase, all I can think about is how much I don't want to go home.

I mean, is Thanksgiving really that big of a deal? If I were to just stay at school for the week, I don't think it would feel much different from any other day.

As if there's a tracker in my mind, my phone rings. Dad.

I inhale for four seconds. Exhale for six.

"Hello?"

"Your flight lands tomorrow at what time?"

"Ten at night your time."

"Alright. And you're okay just taking an Uber to the house?" It's not really a question.

"That's fine."

"Ok. And you have the merch for Daniel?"

"Yes."

"Great. By the way, when you get here, you'll be sleeping in the living room."

My hands freeze in the midst of my packing. "What?"

"We turned your room into an exercise room since you don't live here anymore."

I blink. Once. Then again. My voice comes out much calmer than I feel. "What about my stuff?"

He replies without hesitation. "Oh, we threw it out."

My whole body turns cold. Not a muscle moves. Then my senses surge and I'm unpacking furiously, tossing my clothes onto the bed.

"Are you serious right now? You threw out everything?"

"It's not like you paid for it."

"Dad, there were clothes in that room! And my writing..." My voice trails off. "Did you throw out my notebooks?"

"We didn't think any of that stuff was important. You didn't bring it with you."

His tone is innocent enough but I know there's no way they just thought I wouldn't care. That was my room for 18 years.

"I can't believe you," I say. "You could've put it in a box somewhere. Why would you throw out my stuff?"

"Nothing is free in life, Amelia. You get what you work for. Everything in this house, I worked my ass off for! You don't know what I do for this-"

The words come out before I can stop them. "I'm not coming back for Thanksgiving."

"What?"

"I said I'm not coming back for Thanksgiving. Or ever again for that matter. So tell mom to stop calling me to tell me that I'm a shitty daughter and you stop calling me to let me know you're not paying for me. I don't care. Don't talk to me again."

I hang up the phone and fall back. My breaths are short and ragged. The pounding of my heart echoes throughout my ears as I realize what I've just done.

My first instinct is to call him back immediately and apologize. As I reach for my phone, my hands shake. I go to his contact.

And I stop. I stop and stare at it.

Five minutes pass. Then ten. He doesn't call me back.

My lip quivers as I take a breath. There's nothing in my mind, just white. Slowly, I click the block button. The confirmation notification stares at me. Questioning.

Confirm.

A gasp escapes me and I feel my heart running so fast, it feels like my chest is about to burst.

Breathe. Four seconds. Six seconds.

I bring my hand to the next contact, Daniel. Block. Confirm.

Finally, my mom.

My head runs through the good times. The time she took me to get donuts because I ended 6th grade with straight As. When she got me McDonald's after Taylor Bennings dumped me as a friend in 7th grade.

I can't remember any good times after that.

Then there's an overflow of bad ones. Times where she pretended to care only to stab me in the back. Names she called me.

Ungrateful. Selfish. Slut.

And my dad just sat there. Telling me to listen to my mother. Telling me they know best.

Block. Confirm.

I sit on the floor against the bed. My breaths are now silent but my heart is still loud. Clothes hang from the sheets, begging to be packed somewhere nice and neat.

"You're free," I whisper to myself.

Putting my head between my legs, I wait for the tears. I wait for the waterfalls that poured out during junior year when I first started realizing my own family didn't care about me. I wait for the pain of realizing that I'm officially alone.

But nothing feels different.

I know the stress will kick in because who would I be without stress. But for now, I just sit there, feeling my chest lighten and an odd sense of relief flood through me. Maybe even a little pride.

I try to cry. I try to feel guilty. But I don't.