Inescapable Escapism

I mean, you can definitely smuggle more than just people, I typed back to Phoebe. Didn’t people use to smuggle guns and alcohol and stuff? Animals definitely count, too. Things are going okay here. I’m just about to start packing, but my room is a mess.

My fingers hovered over the screen, but I stopped myself from saying anything else. I almost messed up. I was about to say that my room was so much a mess because of my mom. That she’d messed it up when she searched it, but it would have been a mistake to mention that.

Phoebe hated that my mom went through my room. It had slipped out before, and Phoebe had been furious. She wasn’t annoyed at me but on my behalf. She said it wasn’t right, and that everyone deserved privacy in their own room.

She wanted to say something to her. Phoebe actually wanted to confront my mom and tell her off for going through my room. It was inappropriate, according to her, and someone deserved to tell her that. Phoebe wanted to tell her, and that worried me. I remembered panicking. I was so scared that my mom would overhear or that she’d actually do it, but she hadn’t. She didn’t want to make things worse for me despite how angry she was.

The reaction was conflicting. I hadn’t meant to tell Phoebe that my mom searched my room; it had just slipped out. I was trying to find a textbook, but I couldn’t because Mom had moved everything about when she’d gone through my room earlier that day. I found it, eventually. For some reason, Mom had put it under my bed.

In a way, it was reassuring to see Phoebe’s outrage. I didn’t really talk to anyone about the way Mom acted. It was awkward to bring up, and it was all I was used to, so it felt normal, but I knew it wasn’t. Mostly. It wasn’t how I’d seen other parents act towards their kids, and it didn’t feel right, but I didn’t know. That made it clear.

It did scare me, though. I really didn’t want Phoebe to say anything to Mom. Mom already didn’t really like Phoebe, but she was pleasant to her. She mostly hid her disdain, but if Phoebe had said anything, if she had insulted her like she wanted to, my mom would stop hiding it. I didn’t want that to be unleashed on anyone, especially not Phoebe. And Mom would get worse. She’d stop me from being able to see her outside of school, and I really didn’t want that to happen. Phoebe was my only friend, and I went over to her house as much as possible. Well, not quite my only friend. I had Duncan, too, but I couldn’t exactly stay over at his house.

My face started to flush. I had stayed at his before. I used to go over there quite often when I was younger, and I’d stay in the spare room with Phoebe after a party sometimes, but that didn’t really count. It would be different if I were to stay over at his after how we‘d been texting. A smile started to pull at my lips, but I squeezed them together, trying to stop it.

What would it be like? Would I still stay in the spare room? Or would I sleep on an air mattress in his room like I did as a kid? Neither, probably. I’d most likely stay with him. In his bed. It was a double bed, big enough for both of us, after all. We could both sleep in it, but… was that all we’d do?

My phone buzzed, and I looked down at it, trying to put the thought out of my head as hard as possible.

Urgh, I guess. Fine. I won’t smuggle anything. Apart from maybe some alcohol, but only a little bit, not like smuggling amount, came Phoebe’s reply. Ew, I hate packing. I hope it’s not too bad! I’m just going to ignore it and pretend I don’t have to for as long as possible. You should do the same. You can always do it in the morning! Wait, how are you feeling about the date???

I chewed on my lip as I debated what to say to her. The first part of the message was fine. I could reply to that easily enough; it was the last line that I was stuck on. Nervous. That’s how I was feeling about it, but at the same time, I was excited. It was difficult to work out which one I felt more, though. It varied from day to day.

I didn’t know what to expect, and that was part of the problem. I think if I did, it would have been easier. I could have mentally prepared for it better, but I didn’t know, and that made it harder. It might just be a friend thing. Perhaps we’d just hang out like friends, play some video games, and maybe drink a little, but it could be more. It could be a date. Like, a proper one, and I didn’t know what people did on dates.

It would still be fun, even if we just gamed. I knew that I’d have a good time, but I wanted more. Kind of. I was mostly trying not to really think about it because if I did and I started hoping for more, I’d just be disappointed if nothing happened between us. I wanted to keep my expectations low. Then, it would be harder to feel let down. I’d just be pleasantly surprised if things went well.

Okay, good. Oh, nice. What alcohol are you going to bring back? Yeah, it shouldn’t be too bad. Mom reckons her parents might come back in the morning, so I need to pack everything today, which is… great, I typed, hesitating just a moment before continuing. Yeah, I’m feeling okay about it. Kinda nervous, but it should be fun.

I read the message a couple of times before hitting send. It sounded okay. I didn’t want to seem too nervous, but I didn’t think I did.

Whatever I can get my hands on, came Phoebe’s quick response. Ew, gross. Just shove everything into your bag and sit on it? That’s what I do. Oh yeah? I bet it’s going to be fun…

My cheeks started to burn at Phoebe’s insinuation, and I locked my phone without answering her. I wasn’t sure what to say, so not answering felt like the best option. I’d reply later once I’d thought of a response or a way to change the subject. It wouldn’t be too hard. I could just ask her anything about her time in France. We’d been texting throughout, but there was probably something that had happened that she hadn't told me about yet.

I looked at my reflection again, ignoring how red my cheeks were, before looking around my room. I was just standing in the middle of it and doing nothing, and that looked weird. If Mom walked past, she would definitely assume I was doing something on my phone that I shouldn’t be and would demand to look through it. Glancing at my reflection again, I ran through my options in my head. I was already dressed. My hair was done too, and it looked good. That kind of just left packing. Either that, or I could work through some of the language apps on my phone. I hadn’t touched them yet that morning, and I wanted to keep my streaks going.

No, I thought as I started to lift my phone again. I’d have time to do them later, but it would be a mistake to do them now. My mom would be furious if she saw me on my phone when she’d told me to pack. I needed to do that. I’d already dragged my cases into the centre of my room, so I’d basically already started. It still felt like too big a task, though. I didn’t want to do it, and I found myself looking around my room, searching for something else to do instead.

My eyes landed on my makeup bag. I wasn’t wearing any, but I could put some on. Mom wouldn’t get annoyed if she saw me doing that. She always said I should wear makeup whenever I left the house. Otherwise, I looked exhausted and like I didn’t care about how I looked. Plus, I was wearing a nice dress, and my hair looked good. That made me want to wear makeup, too. I knew that it would make me feel prettier.

A slight smile came over my face as I sat down in front of the mirror and tipped the contents of my makeup bag onto the floor, grabbing for my moisturiser. I squeezed some out onto my hand, feeling dizziness begin to pull at me immediately. Instinctively, I started reaching towards it, but I stopped myself. It felt too dangerous. I’d already tempted disaster once that morning by leaving the world whilst straightening my hair. It felt stupid to do it again. What if I came back at the wrong time? I could stab myself in the eye with my mascara wand and blind myself.

The image invaded my mind, sending a flash of pain through my face. I stared at my reflection, unable to see anything other than the thick end of my mascara wand poking out from behind the hand pressed over my eye. Blood coursed down my face, but I didn’t move. I was in shock, unable to process what I was seeing. I couldn’t do anything other than stare at what I had done.

A shiver tore through me, forcing me back into my reality, and I pulled my hands away from my face. My eyes scanned my reflection frantically, finding both of my eyes completely unharmed. A relieved sigh slipped from my lips, but the memory still haunted me. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t risk stabbing myself in the eye like that, and that meant I had to stay where I was, even though I didn’t want to be there.

I wanted to be in my other world. I wanted to sit next to Seth and watch the video Abbie had put on for us. It was far more interesting than I expected it to be, and I was glad for that. People did so much when they were trying to look normal, and it just made them stand out more. I wasn’t sure if they were aware of that, but it would have been so much better for them to just do nothing rather than go out of their way to be casual. It never looked natural, and that’s what made them stand out.

I felt myself cocking my head as I watched the security cam footage of a woman walking across a busy crossing somewhere. She was doing so much. Her moves were too forcefully, too deliberate. She’d adjusted her glasses three or four times, and that made it look like a nervous tic. It probably was, considering what she was carrying. We’d already been told about that.

The image changed, switching from an intersection to the inside of a shop. There were fewer people in there than in the last clip, but that made it more interesting for me. It was harder, in a way. She’d stood out because she was moving so much more than the people around her, but when there were less people, it was hard to tell who was acting weirdly. I started to lean forward before freezing.

I’d done it again. I’d left my world and slipped into another without even realising, and that terrified me. As carefully as possible, I started to reach out toward the dizziness that hovered at the back of my mind. I moved slowly, letting my awareness slowly drip back into my body and trying not to make any movements as it happened, just in case I was holding the mascara brush.

Fear spiked within me. My hands were near my eyes, I realised, staring at my reflection and begging myself not to move. I could see my hands trembling, but I wasn’t doing my mascara. I was just rubbing tinted moisturiser into my face. I sagged back, dropping my hands and letting them fall to my lap. That felt too close. I knew that I needed to be careful; I was fully aware of that, but I’d still left the world.

Stupid. It was stupid. I just needed to try harder. There had to be a way for me to be more grounded in reality, more anchored, so I wouldn’t just slip out of it without noticing. I started to rub the moisturiser into my face again, telling myself to stay where I was and not to reach for the dizziness that stayed tantalisingly close.

It wasn’t enough, though. I could feel myself fighting and struggling after just a few seconds. I needed more. There had to be something else that I could do to stay focused, I thought as I reached for my concealer and unscrewed the lid. Maybe focusing on actually putting my makeup on would help. I could be more deliberate about it, just like the examples I was watching in the other world. Perhaps if I took my time and forced myself to consider everything that I was doing, that could help.

I started to pat the concealer onto my skin, moving slowly and making sure to layer it on the bags under my eyes. They were darker than normal, I realised. They were always there, even when I’d slept well, but the colour was definitely more pronounced than they had been before. That felt weird. I hadn’t slept particularly well the night before. I’d had a few nightmares, if that’s what they were, and had woken up a few times, but I’d gotten to sleep way earlier than I was used to.

Maybe that was the problem, though, I considered as I reached for my highlighter without really paying any attention to what I was doing. Whilst in Scotland, I’d been sleeping pretty well. I didn’t spend hours staring at the ceiling and getting annoyed that I was still awake; I just disappeared into other worlds, and sleep came for me at some point. Perhaps I’d gotten used to sleeping better, so when I didn’t sleep well, I missed it more? That would make sense.

I dropped my highlighter into my bag and reached for my contour stick before pausing as a sound came from the distance. Mom coughed a couple more times before falling silent again. I was pretty sure she was still in the kitchen. It sounded like the noise had come from there, but it was a little hard to tell. There were no footsteps or anything to indicate she was coming closer, though. There was no other noise apart from the soft hum that was present.

It was probably the boiler or something. The house was old, so it would make sense for the boiler to be too, I was pretty sure, at least. But it was summer. Why would the boiler be on? Probably just for hot water, but then surely I wouldn’t be able to hear it throughout the house. I had no clue where the boiler was, but it didn’t make sense to me.

I looked around my room, my eyes falling on the radiator under my window. The house was always really warm somehow, but I thought that was just how it was. Surely, the radiators wouldn’t be on in the middle of summer. It would make sense if they were, though. The radiators at my house back home always made a noise when they were on, and they looked almost as old as the ones in my grandparents’ house.

My eyes darted between the radiator and my reflection as I thought about it. I wanted to get up and check if they were on, but I also didn’t want to get up in the middle of doing my makeup. It didn’t matter if they were, not really. It wasn’t like it would change anything; I would just know what the noise was.

Hesitating for a moment longer, I pushed myself up and walked across my room. The radiator was warm to the touch but not hot. Maybe it was just warm because the sun was shining on it. It was a lovely day outside, I realised as I glanced out the window again. The trees were swaying ever so slightly in a gentle breeze, and the sky was spotless. There wasn’t a single cloud.

Maybe the radiators were on, I thought as I looked back at the one in front of me. My hand was still resting on it, but I pulled it away, walking back to the mirror and shaking my head. I was too distracted, too restless. It was hard for me to focus on just one thing, and that was making it even harder for me to stay in reality. I knew that if I let myself go back to the spy world, I’d feel less bored and restless, but I couldn’t. I needed something else. If there were something else for me to focus on, it would have been easier.

I stared down at my phone for a moment before picking it up. Putting on a video might help. I could find that channel that Phoebe had fallen in love with and watch some of those videos whilst doing my makeup. Or, I could listen to music. It had been a little while since I’d done that. I’d not really listened to any since I’d gone for a run last.

A smile came over my face as I opened the app and put it on shuffle. The sound blared out, and I hurried to turn it down, my eyes darting towards the door. I didn’t want to have it too loud. My mom might hear. There was nothing wrong with that, in theory. I was allowed to listen to music, but I didn’t like it when my mom knew I was.

She always had something to say about it. A snide remark or something. It didn’t matter what I was listening to, she always judged me for it. Plus, it was loud enough for me to hear, so that was fine. I didn’t need to have it any louder.

My hand shook slightly as I unscrewed the mascara wand, but the music was helping. I was able to do both eyes without really feeling the need to leave, which was reassuring. I smiled at my reflection as I dropped the tube back into the bag before hesitating. Something didn’t quite look right. I was missing something, but I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly. I’d done everything I usually did. More, actually.

Eyeliner. That’s what was wrong. My eyes looked too naked, but I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t wear eyeliner. It didn’t look good on me, and I could never do it well. No matter how hard I tried, the flicks were never even, and that looked horrible. Even so, I found myself reaching for the barely used pencil at the bottom of my bag. I hadn’t even bought it for myself. Phoebe had a while back.

Holding my breath, I uncapped it and slowly drew a steady line, ending in a slight flick. I leant back, examining my reflection. I had only done one eye, but I already looked better. I looked more like myself, somehow, and that made me feel strange. How could I look more like myself when I didn’t normally wear eyeliner? Not in that world, at least. I did in some.

There was another world, a few actually, where I wore it often. I could remember practising applying it over and over again until I’d perfected the skill and finally worked up the courage to wear it out of my bedroom. I’d been worried about what people would say, even though it was a tiny thing, but my stepmom liked it. Mom had always said people who wore heavy makeup looked bad, cheap, but that wasn’t what my stepmom had said at all.

I jerked back, staring at my reflection. I had a stepmother in that world, I realised with a slight flare of hope. That meant my parents were divorced. Either that or my mom was…

No. She wasn’t dead, I recalled, with a rush of emotions that ended in shame. She was still alive, and I saw her often. Every other week. The court had ordered that. They asked me what I wanted to do, and the guilt was too much for me to tell them the truth. I remembered how horrible it had felt to say I wanted to stay with both of them, not just my mom, even years later.

Fascination rose within me. I wanted to know more about the world. I had to know what had happened and why my father had finally decided to divorce her in it, but not in reality. Something had to be different. There had to be something big that meant he was able to work up the courage to do it.

I searched through my memories of the world, trying to find anything. I could remember fights. There had been a lot of fights, but then, there were a lot of fights in reality too, so that couldn’t be it. Were there more in the other world? I wasn’t sure. It seemed like they were acting the same way they did in the other world, though. Mom was just as cruel and angry in both worlds, and Dad just put up with it, rarely standing up to her. So what was it? What had changed?

I wasn’t sure, but I couldn’t focus on it anymore. There was something else that stole my attention. I could remember the first time I met my stepmother. Dad had already been dating her for a little while. He wanted to be sure how he felt about her before introducing us, and he came to my room one day, asking if I wanted to meet her. I was scared, but I told him I did. I felt like I had to, despite him insisting that I didn’t.

It was terrifying. I was so worried that she’d be just like my mom. The entire dinner, I was on edge. I knew that I had to make a good impression, and I didn’t want to do anything to annoy her, but she didn’t get annoyed. She never did, not even after she moved in, and we spent more time together. I couldn’t recall a single time when she’d been angry, and that felt weird.

She was so different to my mom, who had only become worse since the divorce. I think it was harder for her to not have my dad there, in a way. She didn’t have anyone to take her frustrations out on, and I was only there half the time. Things festered. She spent the time when I wasn’t staying in her house ruminating and growing angrier, letting it all out on me the moment I returned.

I couldn’t tell my dad. He asked about her from time to time. I think he felt guilty for leaving her. He knew how she was, but I think he thought she’d be better with him gone. That, without him there to upset her, she’d be happier. I let him think that. He deserved it. He’d put up with her for so long and had tried to shield me from the worst of her behaviours. It was my turn to bear the force of it.

Plus, I only had a few more years until I was eighteen. Then, I’d never have to see her again. I could cope with it for a few more years.