Gone From Reality

t w o

"You're finally home," her mother greeted her when Myla stepped onto the porch. Her voice was slurred and unsteady, like she had been drinking all day. Which she probably had been. 

Myla ignored the twinge of annoyance in her stomach and sat down next to her mother, who's eyes were clouded. "How was school?" she asked, smiling lopsidedly.

"Exactly the same as it always has been," Myla stated flatly, trying not to show any emotion towards the question. When her mother raised an eyebrow, she sighed and replied, "School was fine."

"That's good," her mom said, giggling a little. "I met a guy at the bar last night, and he's coming over tonight. Do you want to cook, or should I just order takeout?"

Myla shrugged, chewing on her lip as she heard that another strange guy was coming over. "Takeout is fine." She stood up abruptly and said something along the lines of "I have to go do some homework" before stalking into the house.

Her mom had been going to the bar for as long as Myla could remember, and it seemed that she came home drunk every day, rambling about some other creep that she had met in her drunken state. Every time, she had promised that the guy was the perfect one for her, and every night, she ended up being taken advantage of and repeating the whole process again, starting from going to the bar and getting drunk.

Sighing, Myla sat down in front of her desk and took out a few sheets of paper from her overstuffed backpack. Plucking a dull pencil from a small pile on the corner of her desk, she scribbled down a few answers to the math worksheet before standing up and walking to the backyard, stopping by the kitchen to grab a jar of Nutella.

She could hear her mother talking to somebody, her voice loud and slurred. A guy's chuckle came from the front of the house before some low muttering. 

Myla sighed and stood up, putting down the precious jar of Nutella before walking over to the front porch, where her mom was sitting next to a guy who looked like he was in his early forties. The guy looked up, his black eyes like evil black holes, threatening to swallow her in seconds. "Could I talk to your daughter, Carla?" he asked her mom, a hint of anger behind his voice.

"Sure," she replied, twirling a strand of her hair around her manicured nail. "Just make sure to come back soon. The Chinese takeout should be here any minute."

He nodded and walked Myla to the kitchen, where they were out of earshot. "Don't even try talking your mother out of seeing me," he hissed in a low voice. "I need her."

Myla chewed on her lip to mask her annoyance and simply nodded in agreement. "I wasn't going to talk her out of anything," she replied quietly, avoiding eye contact with the strange man. "But she's going to need somebody to support her, and that's always going to be me." She walked out of the kitchen before the man could threaten her any farther.

>~<

i know, i know what y'all are gonna say:

this is so cringe.

I KNOW THAT IT'S CRINGY JUST BEAR WITH MEH AND I PROMISE I'LL TRY AND MAKE IT BETTER UWU

xx jayna