On a good day, the house could be just peaceful enough to turn up the headphones and ignore all the chaos around me. It flowed like a river in the middle of a thunderstorm. Stand near, and you’d get wet. Stand inside, and you’d drown. Instead of choking on water, I choke on harsh words that even I can’t get out when it’s my turn to swim into the middle. It’s a constant war, and every family member’s guilty.

It used to be that I could take my dinner upstairs, blast my music, and blot out the world. I had friends, I had homework, but none of that existed as long as I was here. My headphones broke, and now even when I’m not fighting, I can still hear the waves crash against the walls.

I have a few escapes. The library—the real one—is right across the street from my school, and it’s where all my homework gets done. The librarians are used to me. They smile every time I walk in, unless I have visible bruises. Then they look away, unsure of a way to cheer me up. Honestly, sometimes I don’t know how to cheer myself up either.

The library and the school aren’t close to home, but I still walk home anyway. Even without headphones, I can still hear the music in my head. And the walk back is much more peaceful with them. However, as soon as I arrive home the music always stops.