The Mess Of Life At Home

Alanna's eyelids fluttered open to the dull hum of silence, a stark contrast to last night's haunting melodies and Chester Bennington's impassioned voice that had echoed through her room.

She stretched languidly, the remnants of dreams clinging like cobwebs as she sat up. The clock on her bedside table glared back at her: noon. A groan escaped her lips; she had dove into the pages of her book and swam in lyrics until the early hours, seeking solace in someone else's stories.

 Slipping from the warmth of her bed, Alanna padded down the stairs, the wooden planks creaking beneath her weight like an old, familiar tune.

 "Good afternoon, Alanna," Bonnie greeted her with a warm smile as she stepped into the kitchen. The aroma of milanesas filled the air, comforting and familiar. "Tu mamá salió."

 "Gracias, Bonnie," Alanna replied in Spanish, her stomach reminding her of its emptiness with a gentle grumble. She perched on a stool by the island, hunger momentarily eclipsing her tangled thoughts.

 Her phone—a constant companion—rested on the countertop. With a hesitant tap, she dialed her mom's number, the rings stretching out like an endless road before her mother's voice, distant and detached, finally answered.

 "Mom, there's a party tonight... Can Dad take me?" Alanna held her breath, searching for a hint of interest.

 "Ask your father, Alanna. Where is it?"

 "Um... Keith's. Keith Grey's." She had no idea where the party was, but her mom knew Keith Grey's family, so it was a safe, white lie. It's not like her mother would inquire about it, or talk to anyone who would know.

 "Are you coming home or staying at Sasha's?" her mother replied. "No, that one. Sorry, I'm at the mall."

 Thankful for whoever was claiming most of her mom's attention, Alanna quickly answered her routine questions. Where, when, what time. Her mother didn't really care if she stayed up late or if she slept at someone else's place, as long as she came home alive the next day.

 "Have fun," her mother said, hanging up.

 A sigh slipped through Alanna's lips as she typed out a message to Sasha, her fingers hesitating before pressing send. The screen remained lifeless, with no immediate reply to quench her growing anxiety about the evening.

 "Todo bien, niña?" Bonnie's voice cut through her reverie, tinged with concern.

 "Yep, all good," Alanna forced a smile, eyes fixed on her silent phone, willing it to spring to life with the details she so desperately needed.

 Alanna's thoughts swirled like leaves in a gusty breeze as she stood at the foot of the stairs, her gaze flitting toward the laundry room. She needed to get ready, but her mind was a tangled web of cloth and apprehension.

The black dress—her safety net for the night—had been carefully hung away from her cat's inquisitive paws. Yet, there was another concern pricking at her conscience.

 "Where is it?" she murmured, her eyes widening with a dread that clutched her chest. The backpack splayed open on the floor seemed to mock her, its contents spilled like secrets in the daylight.

Her fingers darted through the disarray, searching for the small, foil-wrapped packet that wasn't meant for her eyes. It wasn't there.

 "Bonnie!" Alanna's voice trembled as she rushed into the kitchen, where the scent of crispy milanesas lingered like a comforting embrace. Bonnie looked up, confusion creasing her brow as she wiped her hands on her apron.

 "Did you... Did you go through my backpack?" Alanna's question hung between them, heavy with unspoken fears.

 "Of course, dear." Bonnie's tone was light, oblivious to the storm brewing inside Alanna. "I always empty it for wash. You don't want stink, right?"

 "Right," Alanna mumbled, her heart thudding against her ribs. Normally, she'd correct Bonnie's broken English -per Bonnie's request- but right now, she had more pressing matters to deal with.

She snagged a milanesa from the island, its warmth seeping into her palm. Without another word, she dashed upstairs, propelled by a mix of relief and urgency.

 The sight that greeted her was both mundane and miraculous. There, nestled against the leg of her bed beside a book whose pages were still damp from last night's tears, lay the condom. It was a silent witness to her fears and the lipgloss and other remnants from her backpack's belly.

 A long exhale escaped her lips as she scooped it up, a tide of relief washing over her. But as quickly as the wave came, it receded, leaving behind a residue of questions.

Who?

The thought was a splinter in her mind, an intrusion she couldn't ignore. Her father—with whom?

 Her green eyes, usually so clear and focused, clouded with uncertainty as she placed the foil packet into the depths of her drawer, burying it beneath socks and scarves.

The weight of secrets pressed upon her, yet the clock ticked mercilessly on, reminding her that time waits for no one—not even a girl lost in a sea of doubts.

 The drawer slid shut with a soft click, the sound like a seal on Alanna's burgeoning doubts. She perched on the edge of her bed, her mind a whirling dervish of thoughts she couldn't suppress.

Her father's secret gnawed at her conscience, an uninvited specter in the room. What was it her mother always said? Ignorance is bliss?

But could she live with the weight of this knowledge, real or imagined?

 "Maybe they all know," she whispered to herself, hugging her knees as if she could squeeze out the tension that coiled within her. "Maybe I'm the fool here."

 "Alanna?" Bonnie's voice drifted up the stairs, too cheery for the storm cloud hanging over her heart.

 "Everything's fine!" she called back, a little too quickly. Her voice sounded foreign, hollow, betraying the turmoil she felt.

 "Your dress is clean! Tell me if you want another thing clean!" Bonnie continued, oblivious.

 "Thanks!" Alanna replied though the words tasted like acid on her tongue.

 She couldn't dwell on her suspicions, not today.

The party loomed ahead, a beacon of distraction from the mess of life at home.