suburbs // luke hemmings short story

march

We didn't come home until the end of march, only because we didn't have any money left. Near the end, I remember we would start gathering bottles from the street to take back in exchange for the tiniest amount of money. But it wasn't enough, and we had to return home. 

I dreaded walking in my door. I dreaded seeing my parents reaction once they knew I was home. 

At first, they were happy to know I was home. Happy to know I wasn't dead, mostly. This soon turned into anger. Anger over how I didn't contact them for almost two months. Anger over how I just up and left. But I wasn't sorry.

I wasn't sorry because that month and a half was one of the best months of my life, and I never wanted to forget it. I didn't have to worry about school. I could ignore the looming threat of adulthood, and be with the one I loved. I wasn't sorry.