A Queens return

Pretending

The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the grimy windows of our small apartment, casting long shadows across the rickety breakfast table. I sat in silence, staring down at the meager portion of bread that lay before me, my appetite long gone in the wake of the tumultuous night.

My mother's voice droned on in the background, her complaints a constant refrain that grated on my nerves like sandpaper. "I can't believe we have to live like this," she muttered, her tone bitter and resentful. "It's bad enough that we had to leave everything behind, but now we have to suffer through this misery every single day?"

Beside her, my father's anger simmered just below the surface, his shouts echoing off the walls of the cramped kitchen like a thunderstorm on the horizon. "I'm sick of your complaining, Martha!" he snapped, his voice laced with frustration. 

I pushed my bread around on my plate, my appetite soured by the toxic atmosphere that permeated the room. I knew I should eat more, that my body needed sustenance to fuel the battles that lay ahead. But the thought of choking down another bite made my stomach churn with revulsion.

I glanced up at my parents, their faces twisted with anger and resentment, and felt a surge of anger rise within me. How could they carry on like this, day after day, without any thought for the toll it took on their own daughter?

But I knew better than to speak out, to voice my frustrations and risk inviting their wrath upon myself. So instead, I kept my head down and endured their tirades in silence, the taste of bile rising in the back of my throat.

"You think I like this any more than you do?" he shot back, his voice edged with bitterness. "We're all making sacrifices here, Martha. The least you could do is try to make the best of it."

But my mother was having none of it, her resentment boiling over into outright anger. "Make the best of it?" she scoffed, her eyes flashing with indignation. "How can you expect me to make the best of living in this hellhole? We should never have moved here in the first place."

I glanced up from my plate, my heart sinking at the sight of my parents locked in yet another argument. I knew there was nothing I could say to intervene, to ease the tension that hung heavy in the air like a suffocating fog.

But still, I couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration rise within me, a desperate longing for some semblance of peace amidst the chaos that surrounded us. "Can't we just try to get along?" I blurted out, the words tumbling from my lips before I could stop them.

Both my parents turned to look at me, surprise flickering in their eyes at my sudden outburst. For a moment, the room fell silent, the weight of my words hanging heavy in the air.

But then, my mother's expression hardened, her features twisted with resentment. "Don't you dare tell me what to do, Luna," she snapped, her voice sharp and cutting. "You have no idea what we're going through."

I bit my lip, swallowing the retort that rose to my tongue. I knew better than to challenge her, especially when her temper was already frayed to its breaking point.

But still, a part of me couldn't help but wonder: how much longer could we go on like this, trapped in a cycle of anger and resentment that seemed to have no end in sight?

I couldn't take it anymore. The tension in the air was suffocating, the constant bickering between my parents like a weight pressing down on my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. With a heavy heart, I pushed my half-eaten bread aside and rose from the table, the decision clear in my mind.

Ignoring the startled looks from my parents, I hurried to gather my things, my movements quick and purposeful. I needed to escape, to break free from the confines of our suffocating apartment and find some semblance of peace.