Pulling up to the house for Christmas felt like torture. One year since you left. One year since that night with Joel.

Your stomach twists as you get out, your father eagerly awaiting you. After a brief conversation, you bring your bag up to your old bedroom. It looked like it was stuck in time, girlish and immature. In your dresser, a carved heart with initials in it.

J.M.

You sigh and lay on your bed. You missed him. You hated him. It wasn’t clear. You hear the doorbell ring and a rush of panic floods you. “Turn around. Run, run-“

Sweetie! Your father calls from the front door. They’re here!