I stumbled into my room, barely managing to shut the door behind me before the tears started to fall.
The muffled scream I let out into my pillow was my only release, but it wasn't enough. Anger simmered under the surface—anger at Yike, at mom and dad, at myself, and at everything that had piled up over the years. I slammed my fist into the mattress and kicked one of the pillows across the room, sending my blanket tumbling to the floor.
For the past two days, I'd done everything possible to avoid Jia and Devon. I didn't want to see their faces, their perfect smiles, or hear their voices. But my grandparents wouldn't leave me alone.
They kept checking on me, pretending like everything was fine, like I wasn't falling apart right in front of them.
I couldn't understand why they were so sweet toward me all of a sudden. It felt so fake. Were they trying to make up for something? Or was it just another cruel joke from the universe?
If only I had the guts to say everything I've been holding in all these years. To tell them what it's like being compared to Jia and Devon every single day.
To tell them how it feels to be the extra piece that doesn't quite fit. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but it's hard not to feel like I'm not needed, like I'm just... here, existing on the fringes of this family. Sure, I won the championship a few days ago, but even that can't erase the memory of standing on the track, looking at the empty bleachers, knowing nobody came to watch because the divorce was more important than me.
The door creaks open, and I tense. Jia stepped into the room, her perfect posture and calm expression grating on my nerves.
"Taryn," she said softly, her voice annoyingly careful, "Grandma asked me to check on you. You've been avoiding everyone."
"I don't need anyone to check on me," I snapped, the words sharper than I intended. But I didn't care. I was done pretending everything was okay. I was done being the one who had to hold it together.
Jia looked like she wanted to argue, but before she could say anything, the sound of footsteps interrupted us.
Devon strolled in, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand, looking between us like we were a particularly fascinating TV drama.
"What's going on here?" he asked, his tone casual, like this wasn't a complete disaster.
"Nothing," I said quickly, turning away. The last thing I needed was for Devon to butt in.
"Doesn't sound like nothing," he said, leaning against the doorframe with that infuriating smirk. "You two fighting again?"
"We're not fighting," Jia said, her voice tight. "Taryn's just—"
"Don't," I cut her off, my voice icy. "Don't try to explain to me."
"Maybe I have my reasons," I muttered, my fists clenching at my sides.
"Like what? Winning the championship wasn't enough glory for you?" Devon teased, his tone light, but it hit a nerve.
I spun around, glaring at him. "You think this is about glory? Do you even care about anything besides yourself?"
His smirk disappeared, replaced by a look of confusion. "Whoa, where's this coming from?"
"You wouldn't understand. Neither of you would." My voice was quiet now, but the weight of my words hung in the air.
I could feel both of them staring at me, but I refused to meet their eyes. I didn't owe them an explanation. Not now, not ever.
"I think we should give her some space," Jia finally said, her voice hesitant. They left, closing the door behind them, and I let out a shaky breath.
Maybe this was all because of years of growing up without the recognition I craved, the validation I needed. A mother's appreciation, a father's pride—they were things I watched Devon and Jia receive effortlessly, while I was left scrambling for scraps of attention.
The divorce had shattered so many things in our family, but somehow, it felt like it had broken me the most. Jia moved on, as perfect as ever, unaffected by the cracks in our lives. Devon didn't seem to feel left behind; he carried on as if nothing had changed. But me? I felt it all. I felt broken, and I felt left behind, all at once.
I hugged my knees to my chest, closing my eyes tightly.
Everyone came rushing toward me with their care like Baihe, Zichen, their concern—a sweetness that felt like salt in an open wound. It wasn't the care I needed, not from them.
It was the kind of care I had longed to see from my parents, even after the divorce. But that care never came. And now, it felt like it was too late.
Why did everything feel so heavy, so impossible to carry? I tried telling myself that I could handle it, that I was strong enough to deal with it on my own. But the truth was, I wasn't sure anymore.
The days had piled up, each one bringing a new wave of emotions I didn't know how to process.
I couldn't stop thinking about how things had gotten to this point—how I had let my feelings spiral out of control, how I had let the weight of my family's history press down on me until I felt like I couldn't breathe.
They wouldn't understand—not really. They hadn't lived through the comparisons, the overshadowing, the constant feeling of being less. They hadn't carried the burden of feeling both broken and left behind.
I stood up, pacing the room. I didn't know what to do, where to start. I wasn't sure if this was the right thing to do—or if there even was a "right" thing anymore—but I knew I couldn't stay here.
Tonight, the thought of stepping away, even if only for a while, gave me enough resolve to follow through.
I cracked my door open and peeked into the hallway. The lights were off in Jia's and Devon's rooms, and I could hear soft snores coming from my grandparents' room.
I pulled on a hoodie, grabbed my phone and wallet, and slipped out of my room with as much silence as I could muster.
Grandpa's car keys hung on their usual hook in the kitchen, glinting faintly in the moonlight that streamed through the window. My heart raced as I reached for them, I hesitated for a moment, the weight of what I was about to do settling in.
I needed this—
I needed to feel like I had some control over my life, even if it was reckless and impulsive.