To The Moon and Back

𝟎𝟏 | 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞

B L A C K  H O L E

A concentration of mass so dense that nothing — not even light — can escape its gravitational pull once swallowed up.

T O  T H E
M O O N & B A C K

AS I GRABBED my keys off the counter, I rushed over to the door, swinging it open and then slamming it shut forcefully, rushing down the countless fucking flights of stairs. The owner of these fucking apartments needs to get the elevator fixed already, I'm sure he's watched the security footage where my high ass falls down the stairs at least four times now.

Finally, I reached the lobby before I was able to go down to the last level, the garage, and find my car.

Locating my baby, I press the unlock button on my keys and slide into the driver's seat, wasting not another miserable fucking second, before placing my keys in the ignition and speeding out of my apartment's car park.

I was angry and depressed and only one thought continued to run through my mind. Two words that overpowered every single other thought and emotion. Killing myself. I just failed every fucking class this term, including English, and my mother asks for my school report each semester to make sure that I'm doing okay, as though I'm some fucking child, and she's going to be so disappointed.

And she just found me high as shit in my apartment. She checks up on me a lot but her presence always comes unannounced, so when she walked in, using the spare key that she has—that being one of the many conditions of my living here—and saw me with a bloody nose, she knew straight away.

Sometimes she checks up on me every day, sometimes she'll go weeks without coming over because she trusts me, but then Alula tells her that she's worried about me, and she'll show up straight away. Alula snitches on me every fucking chance she gets. She's lucky I don't have the energy to get back at her—or the memory span—otherwise, they'd hate her too.

We fought like we always do. We shouted and she told me how she can't handle me anymore and I told her how much I fucking hate her and then she left. Our arguments are an endless cycle and they always consist of the same things. Her famous fucking line is "Atlas, this is not how I raised you. You're destroying yourself." and I always respond the same way, "You never raise someone to become a burnout, stop acting like your parenting could have changed anything."

It's true. She was the best mother and so was my father. It's not them. It's me. My problem is not my life it's me. It's everything on the inside. I fucking hate myself.

And after all of that, she left again, not because she wanted to, but because I made her. And with her departure left me with this un-fucking-believable amount of guilt in my chest. I know she's going to run home and tell my father, and soon enough, he will be over too, and he's a lot more fucking bloody scary than my mother. She's just emotional. I definitely have his anger.

Speak of the devil, I thought as my phone began to ring. Despite driving carelessly over the designated speed limit and being preoccupied driving, I answered. Not because I wanted to but because I knew that she wouldn't fuck off until I answered and if I didn't, she would just overreact and then my father would begin calling. May as well answer to save another pathetic fight.

"What?" I growled, placing my phone on my thigh.

I heard my mother sigh through the speaker. "Atlas. . .this cannot keep happening." were her first words. "I can't keep seeing you destroy yourself like this. It's like watching someone kill themself slowly right in front of you and not being able to do anything. I don't want to deal with this again."