Chapter 1: Like Always
“Ava!”
Her mom’s voice cut through the apartment.
“Get up!”
Ava was already tired, and she hadn’t even opened her eyes yet.
She lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, her body heavy and unresponsive, like she hadn’t really slept at all. The room around her was a mess. Toys were scattered across the floor—plastic pieces, stuffed animals, things that didn’t belong to her. One of her sister’s dolls lay half under her bed, its hair tangled and stiff. Most of her own things didn’t last long anyway.
“Ava, I said get up and help with the kids!”
The baby started crying in the living room, loud and sharp, right on cue.
Ava exhaled slowly and rolled onto her side, forcing herself to move even though everything in her body resisted. Even sitting up felt like too much, but she pushed herself upright anyway.
“Move,” her mom snapped from the doorway. Her curly reddish-purple hair was pulled into a messy bun, and the smell of cigarettes clung to her scrubs. “I don’t have time for this.”
Ava swung her legs over the side of the bed, careful not to step on anything, her feet finding a small patch of floor between the toys. The carpet felt cold, and something sticky tugged faintly at her heel.
“Take her.”
The two-year-old was shoved into her arms so suddenly that Ava barely caught her, the weight knocking her back a step.
Of course.
The toddler started crying immediately, loud and sharp against her ear, and Ava flinched, still half-asleep as she adjusted her grip.
“Hey—wait—” she muttered.
The toddler clung tighter, crying harder.
Ava stood there for a second, her head still foggy, her body trying to catch up.
“I need her ready for daycare,” her mom said, already turning away. “And get the baby when you’re done.”
Ava shifted the toddler onto her hip automatically. “Okay.”
By the time she reached the living room, the TV was already on, something loud and bright flashing across the screen. The baby was still crying in the bouncer.
Down the hall, her mom’s bedroom door stayed closed, barely cracked. Trent, her mom’s boyfriend, was still asleep behind it—like none of this had anything to do with him.
Ava crouched, lowering the toddler just long enough to pick the baby up. The second she did, the toddler grabbed onto her leg again, clinging. She balanced both of them without thinking, her arm already starting to ache.
“Alright,” she murmured softly. “I know. I know.”
The kitchen was a mess—bottles in the sink, something sticky on the counter, a sour smell lingering in the air. She found the bottle where it had been left, not clean, but rinsed it anyway and filled it quickly.
The baby cried harder.
“I know,” Ava said again.
She sat down, shifting the toddler beside her while she fed the baby. The toddler leaned into her side, sniffling softly now.
Ava rested her head back against the wall for a moment.
Then she straightened.
There was never time.
By the time both of them were quiet, the apartment had filled with noise again—voices, footsteps, the bathroom door slamming.
Her mom appeared in the doorway, already dressed.
“Are they ready?”
Ava nodded. “Yeah.”
Her mom stepped forward and took the baby from her arms, then the toddler, just like that.
No pause. No hesitation.
“Come on,” she said, already heading for the door.
The toddler reached for Ava briefly before being pulled away.
The door opened, then shut.
The apartment didn’t get quieter.
It never did.
Ava stayed where she was for a moment, her arms still feeling like they were holding something even after they were empty.
Then she turned toward the hallway.
The bathroom door was closed.
Locked.
Figures.
She tried the handle anyway.
It didn’t move.
She knocked once and waited.
Nothing.
She knocked again, harder.
“Can you hurry up?”
No answer.
“I need to get ready.”
“Shut up,” Jade’s voice came from inside. “Go away.”
Ava rested her hand lightly against the door, listening as Jade laughed at something on her phone.
She waited.
A minute passed.
Then another.
The door didn’t open.
“Are you done?” Ava asked.
“No.”
Jade didn’t sound like she was in any rush.
Ava stared at the handle.
Not getting ready. Just wasting time.
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t knock again.
By the time the bathroom was finally empty, Ava was already late.
She stepped inside and locked the door behind her, turning the shower on immediately. The mirror was streaked, clutter crowding the sink, and the air still felt damp from someone else’s shower.
The water hit her shoulders cold before slowly warming.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Then reached for the shampoo.
Empty.
She flipped the bottle upside down and shook it.
Nothing.
The conditioner was the same.
Ava stared at them for a moment before setting them back down.
She should have known.
She rinsed her hair anyway, even though it didn’t help, then turned the water off sooner than she wanted.
Time ran out too fast.
By the time she got dressed, she was already rushing.
The sweater she pulled on was baggy and worn, the fabric heavy and not clean—but it was easy. It didn’t show anything. Her sweatpants were wrinkled, the same as yesterday.
She skipped the mirror.
Skipped her hair.
Skipped her teeth.
Her hair sat damp and uneven against her shoulders.
She grabbed her bag and left.
The morning air hit her, cool against her damp hair.
The bus was already at the end of the street.
“Shit,” she muttered, breaking into a run.
Her bag bounced against her side as she ran, her damp hair sticking to the back of her sweater. The sleeves slipped over her hands, and she pushed them back without slowing.
The doors were still open.
She made it just before they closed.
“Sit down,” the driver said without looking at her.
Ava nodded and stepped inside.
The bus was loud—voices overlapping, people laughing, someone playing music out loud. The air felt too warm, packed with too many people.
Something hit the back of a seat and fell into the aisle, but no one reacted.
Ava moved down the aisle quickly, eyes forward, not looking at anyone and not expecting anyone to look at her either.
Seats were full—or looked full. Backpacks took up space, legs stretched out into the aisle.
She kept walking toward the back.
There was one empty seat.
Of course.
A group of girls sat a few rows ahead, passing a phone between them and laughing at something on the screen.
Ava watched for a moment—like she might say something, like she wanted to—but she didn’t know what she would even say.
She looked away.
She sat down and pulled her sleeves over her hands, leaning her head against the cold window. Her hair was still damp, sticking slightly to the back of her sweater.
The noise didn’t fade.
After a moment, she caught it—the smell.
Faint, but there.
Her sweater. Her hair.
Ava went still.
For a second, she just sat there, pretending she hadn’t noticed it.
Like no one else would either.
The feeling didn’t go away.
It settled anyway, quiet but heavy, sitting there whether anyone said anything or not.
Ava shifted slightly in her seat, turning toward the window, angling herself away from the aisle like that might help.
Outside, the street blurred as the bus started moving.
Inside, nothing changed.
It stayed loud.
Voices overlapping like she wasn’t even there.
Ava leaned her head against the glass, her eyes unfocused.
She was used to that.
It made things easier.
Or at least, it was supposed to.
