Page 12 of Victorious: Part I

Like he knows what’s coming.

Like he’s already bracing for the worst.

And if Miller is worried, I should be fucking terrified.

Just as they reach the door, he leans in, murmuring something I can’t hear.

She stops. It’s a second. Maybe less. But it’s long enough to hollow me out.

Because she nods. Slowly. Resigned. Like she’s accepting something she doesn’t want to say out loud. And then she turns back to me.

That look.

Thatfucking look.

It’s not just worry, it’s finality. Like she’s already making peace with something.

Like she knows this might be the last time we see each other.

I feel it in my bones.

It’s the same feeling I had when I was ten years old, standing in that doorway, screaming for her as they dragged my mother away. The same feeling I had when she turned back with those haunted eyes, silently begging me to be strong.

And now, I’m here again.

Trapped in this same fucking cycle.

Aboywho can’t stop it.

Amanwho still can’t.

My stomach lurches, and I push up from my seat, the fragile plastic slamming against the harsh concrete, but it’s too late—she’s already gone.

The door seals shut behind her.

I can’t move.

I can’t breathe.

The air around me thickens, crushing down on my chest like a pile driver.

Rolling my shoulders, I try to shake it off, but there’s no shaking this. With every step she took, something inside me cracked. And now, it’s splintering into something I won’t be able to put back together.

Because this isn’t just another visit.

This is the moment I realizeI might not get another.

And there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.

My stomach knots so tight it’s painful. Something is happening in here, something she won’t tell me. And I’m stuck on the outside, watching, knowing, but powerless to do a damn thing to stop it.

My nostrils flare, my hands curling into fists. Every instinct in my body screams at me to storm those fucking doors, tear through every last one of these motherfuckers to get to her.

But I can’t.

I know how this works.

I lose my temper, I make a scene, and all I do is put a bigger target on Mom’s back. I force down the rage threatening to claw its way out. I need to be smarter. I need information.

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