Short stories that live inside

The laundry room

Most days are hectic. Most days I try to balance everything in my plate with what feels like a broken straw. Most days I do succeed but not without thoughts of wanting to give up.

I hadn't been to the laundry room to have a moment of peace in more than two months. I hadn't closed the door so no one could see me crying for things they label as "dumb" in much longer than that. The last time I went to sleep crying was like two years ago due to this great amount of attention directed to my sister because she needed a fucking dress for a party and I needed new curtains because mine were made out of paper and ruined by rain that leaked through my window in the single storm that hits my city once a year. It sounds stupid —me complaining about curtains when I have a roof over my head— but it seemed to go deeper. My sister always has my parents there for her since she suffers from anxiety and depression.

I, on the other hand, seem to be alone sometimes because I always look so put together and always have gotten amazing grades. Hell I even got into a private school with a 40% scholarship which is the highest percentage they give. Maybe they think I can take care of myself because I was bullied through elementary school and didn't come out as fucked up as I should.

I have four friends but I would never tell them my deepest darkest secrets and every night I lie in bed, wishing for a man who would just bend me over and fuck the loneliness out of me. Yeah, I shouldn't want that as a solution.

Don't misunderstand me, my parents are great and they love me but I wish they would notice my struggles easily. Is it bitchy and nonsensical not telling them myself? Probably but I want them to see me without me standing in front of their faces.

Everyone seems to need me and think I don't need them back. Sometimes when my grandpa realizes I'm sad, he does everything to make me laugh.

Today my mother has been so over me so I told her she should give me up if she's so tired of my presence. She then proceed to ask me why would I say such thing. Maybe it was exaggerated but it felt like a right answer to her "Oh my God, enough," every time I talked to my grandpa today.

I grabbed my book and went to sit in the living room with my head throbbing, blood poisoned with adrenaline which happens every time I speak my mind. My aunt walked past the living room and talked to my mom in the kitchen about why I seemed so upset; they chuckled. They chuckled and it didn't make me feel any better.

Yes, maybe my reaction was exaggerated but it doesn't make my feelings less valid. She won't apologize or talk to me about it, she'll just go on with her day and expect me to get over it. Maybe —big emphasis on that— she'll come into my room before dinner and ask me if I'm still upset and I'll answer I'm not because she's my mother and all I want is to keep her happy.

I run away from conflict if you haven't noticed.

Yesterday noon I downloaded tinder and paid $5 for the passport feature so I could meet men from Italy. I've matched with a bit over 30 men and have shot my shot with around fifteen of them. Four so far only want sex and two have been extremely nice to me, talking about movies and mundane stuff. Of course I don't fully trust them and will most likely delete the app tonight; a day and a half later. Two of those who want sex have asked for pics and vids and upon denying them they kept on pressuring me; one got an ass pic from me and the other one said, and I quote:

Fucking Mexicans...always teasing and never delivering. Fuck off.

I laughed because I knew what I was getting into and what else could I expect from a man whose first emoji on his bio is an eggplant. I did call him 'daddy' and used my questionable smut skills to sext.

To say that he insulted the people from my culture by saying 'Fucking Mexicans' it's an understatement. At least for me it felt like an insult not just for Mexicans but for women who don't share pics or vids to a person whom they just met, with so many horror stories in real life and in movies about how wrong that can go.

I have all the fucking right in the world to tease and not deliver without being insulted. Do you know what consent is you ape-shit man? As if there weren't men who fuck women and don't make them cum not only because they don't know how to but because they're only looking for personal gain.

All of this and so much more is why I hide in the laundry room. Because if I want to cry the violent shaking sound of the washing machine will drown the moans for the rest of the house and no ones comes in unless the laundry is ready.