Page 20 of Until Forever Falls

“Sabotage?” I echo, feeling the bitterness rise. “You mean exist in a way that doesn’t fit your perfect little picture?”

She doesn’t yell. Doesn’t warn me. Just launches my palette across the room. The wall absorbs the impact with a dull crack as it shatters, spewing color in all directions. Some of it lands on me. Fitting, really.

“You missed a spot,” I snap, shoving past her, the need to escape burning through me. But I don’t get far. Her fingers clamp around my arm, nails biting in painfully. I whip around, meeting her glare with a flat stare. “You want to talk about growing up? How about you try acting like an actual parent for once?”

Her grip falters for a split second, and I don’t wait for her to recover. I lunge for the door, shoving it open so hard it smacks against the wall. Her voice warps behind me, edges dulled by whatever she’s been drinking, but I don’t turn back. The evening air stings my skin as I stumble into the overgrown yard—just in time to see Beckett pull into the driveway, riding shotgun in a red pickup I don’t recognize.

I see the alarm in my brother’s face a second before the door crashes open behind me. Our mother storms out, fists clenched, her breath heaving like a fucking maniac. My heart sinks as I look past him and spot Brooks in the driver’s seat, reaching across to turn down the radio.

She spits my name, venomous, but as soon as she registers we have company, her spine straightens, dragging in a sharp breath. Her hands smoothing over her shirt while her face rearranges itself into something resembling control. Almost. The fire in her eyes refuses to dim.

Beckett’s concern flares in the tightness of his jaw, his eyes glued onto mine like he’s trying to assess the damage. “What happened?”

Mortified doesn’t even begin to cover what I’m feeling. My life is a total disaster, unraveling for Brooks to see firsthand, and I’m powerless to hide any of it.

My mother’s expression doesn’t flicker, her silence louder than any words. She turns with slow, deliberate precision, walking away as if I no longer exist. The door shuts behind her—not slammed, not rushed, just a final, measured punctuation mark to her anger.

Becks straightens, rolling his shoulders like he’s preparing for battle. “Thanks for the ride, Brooks. Truck’s a problem for tomorrow. Right now, I’ve got damage control to run.” He jerks his chin toward the house, then at me. “Let’s go.”

“No,” I choke out, my breath coming in uneven gasps. I can’t go back in. I won’t.

Beckett’s grip is gentle as he pulls me in. “Come on, Dill. She probably went into her room. You’re not staying out here. Let’s go.”

I can feel Brooks watching me, like a spotlight I can’t escape. I feel seen in the worst way, like my ribs are cracked open and my humiliation is spilling onto the pavement for him to sift through. I cross my arms over my chest, gripping too tightly, my fingers digging in, but I don’t let go. The pressure is the only thing keeping me from falling apart. If I could disappear, if I could sink into the ground and never climb back out, I would.

I apprehensively follow Beckett inside, my shoulders curled inward, every step heavy with exhaustion. The house is eerily quiet again, and I worry it’s the kind that doesn’t feel like peace but rather another storm biding its time. Mom’s door stays shut, for now. In Beckett’s room, I sink onto his bed, and he sits behind me. He’s my only constant in a world where nothing else seems to stay in place.

“Did she hit you?”

I shake my head, trying but failing, to find the right words. “Not this time. She just threw my paints.” I wipe my face, but it doesn’t matter. My hands are shaking, my whole body trembling with the effort of keeping it all in. Beckett tugs me into his arms. I stiffen, resisting the comfort I don’t feel like I deserve, but the moment his hands settle on my back, the fight drains from me. My breath shudders, my body folding in on itself as the reality of everything finally crashes down.

“Why is she like this?” I sob, my voice breaking.

“I don’t know, Dill. I wish I did...but it’s not her. It’s the alcohol. You know that, don’t you? We’re almost out, okay? We can make it until graduation.”

I know he’s right, but time feels endless, stretching between now and the moment we can finally leave. Beckett and I have been planning our escape since we were kids—whispered schemes under blanket forts, fingers tracing imaginary routes on old maps. Colorado was always the dream, the place frozen in memory like a photograph. Snow-dusted sidewalks, jagged peaks in the distance, and the tiny park where we tried and failed to sled on patches of stubborn ice. Ever since we left, we’ve sworn we’d go back, rent a little place, and work whatever jobs we had to. It wasn’t about money or success. It was about reclaiming something that once felt like home.

It’s cruel how time drags when you’re desperate for it to speed up. The closer we get to leaving, the heavier each day feels—like wading through quicksand, knowing I’ll be pulled under if I let my guard slip. I’ve lost count of the nights I’ve listened to her scream, felt the agonizing pressure of her anger pressing into my skin. It never changes. It never stops. It’s not like when Beckett and I were younger, back when she still cared—if she ever really did. Now, there’s only this version of her, the one whose voice is always sharp, whose words always bruise. And somehow, I’m the one she targets the most, like punishing me might fix whatever’s broken inside her.

There were nights I used to pray she’d change, that I’d wake up and find the mother I used to know waiting for me at the breakfast table. But that hope withered away a long time ago. This is who she is now. Maybe this is who she’s always been, and I was just too young to see it.

I shrug off Beckett’s arms, pressing my palms hard against my face before forcing a steady inhale and standing. “I should clean up,” I murmur, as if wiping away the mess could somehow make the rest of my life feel less out of control.

“Let me help,” he offers, pushing himself up.

“No, it’s fine. I can handle it.”

He doesn’t move at first, watching me closely, like he’s trying to figure out if I really mean it or if I’m just pushing him away. “Dill, you don’t always have to do everything alone. I want to help you. I can’t just stand here and let you push me away when I know you’re struggling.”

I swallow, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve got it, Becks. Really. Just let it go.”

His posture softens, and I can see the hint of defeat in the way he lowers his shoulders. “Alright. But I’m still here. And I’m not going anywhere, even if you try to shut me out.”

I take a slow breath, my eyes lingering on his face for a moment before I step back into my room. The door creaks slightly as it shuts behind me, and my gaze lands on the dried paint smeared across the wall. It’s nothing new. I’ve scrubbed away her anger more times than I can count.

I used to think if I tried hard enough, I could fix things. That if I was careful, quiet, perfect, she’d love me the way she used to. The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth. My phone buzzes in the back pocket of my jeans, pulling me back to the present.

Brooks:Hey, it’s Brooks. Got ur # from Beckett. He wasn’t too stoked, but I talked him into it. ;)

---