What To Do Next?

I backed out of my driveway, completely numb. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘐'𝘮 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘸𝘢𝘺, I thought.

What do I do next? Where should I go? It felt like too much of a burden to Rachel if I asked to move in with her.... I can't do that. That wouldn't be fair to her family.

Oh my God. I'm going to need to get an apartment on my own. I knew I was going to move out of my house soon, obviously.... I just didn't think it'd end in an argument.

I was eighteen, so I supposed I'd rent a motel or something. With one hand on the steering wheel, I searched for my wallet in my coat pockets.

No.... My pockets were empty. This can't be happening....

My wallet -- containing $400, my credit card, and my ID -- was not in my pocket. Neither was my cell phone.

"Dammit!" I cursed aloud, stopping in the middle of the road (I was on an empty street, mind you).

But then I relaxed as I remembered I always lock my bedroom door. Always. I was so afraid of my parents rifling through my things, so I began locking my room every time I left when I was sixteen.

I exhaled in relief when I found the little silver key on my throat. Thank God I added string to my key and never took it off.

But still, how would I get to my wallet? What about Rosa? What about my clothes?

I stopped my car for the second time and pressed my forehead against the wheel. I breathed in deep through my nose. "Okay, think," I said to myself.

I knew I had to stay at Rachel's. There was no other choice. So I resumed driving and took a left on Euphoria Ct. onto Rachel's street.

Her beautiful brick house came into view and I parked on the grass, careful not to run over any of Mrs Tate's zinnias.

I rang their old doorbell -- the whole house was old -- and a short, middle-aged woman with a platinum pixie cut answers. Her green eyes crinkle at the edges when she smiled. "Hannah, dear!" she exclaimed, pulling me into a hug.

"Hi, Mrs Tate," I said. Mrs Tate may have been short, but she had a tight grip.

"Now, Hannah," Mrs Tate pulled away but kept her hands on my arms. "How many times have we been through this--you can call me Lucy."

I smiled at her as she pulled me into her warm home. I never called her Lucy--it was too abnormal for me. Mum and Dad raised me to call adults 'Mr' and 'Mrs'.

I sat down on her cozy leather sofa in the cluttered living room. "Hannah, dear, do you want some hot chocolate? It's freezing outside," she asked kindly, and her voice was just as sweet as her personality.

I was ready to decline when I remembered how chilly it was outside. It was very wintry for mid-February. "That would be great, thank you."

"Of course, dear," Mrs Tate hummed as she disappeared into the kitchen, which I knew was just as messy as the living room. I didn't mind though; I loved the Tates' messy house. It felt like a real home ought to. Safe, warm, and loving. My house -- ex-house? -- was nothing like that.

"Mum?" I heard Rachel's deep voice from her bedroom upstairs. "Do we have a guest?"

"Yes, dear!" Mrs Tate called from the kitchen. "Come and say hello!"

Rachel's light footsteps indicated she was wearing slippers. "Han!" she said in surprise. Rachel was wearing a spa headband and a baby-pink face mask.

"Surprise," I said, forcing a grin.

'Talk in my room?' Rachel mouthed.

I nodded. Rachel knew me too well to believe my fake smile.

"We'll be in my room, Mum," Rachel said, grabbing my hand and leading me upstairs.

Her room was exactly as I remembered: mint walls, aesthetic photographs taken by her, comfy beanbag chair, large window, and a small desk. Rachel's room was cramped and cluttered, but I loved it better than my own. I sat down on her beanbag chair, across from her twin bed.

Rachel kicked open the door of her bathroom and picked up a white towel, dampened it under the faucet, and began to sponge her face with it. When her face was clear, she stepped back into her bedroom and sat down on her bed. "So."

I laughed, even though it wasn't funny. Then my laughs turned to tears, and before I knew it I was sobbing. Rachel rushed over and wrapped her arm around my shoulders.

"Hey, Han, what's wrong?" Rachel's brow was furrowed.

I bit my lip and steeled myself. "My parents kicked me out." My voice was thick from crying.

Rachel's green eyes widened so much they were bugging. "What."

I looked away and braced myself. Rachel never could contain her emotions, not like me.

"𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘰𝘶𝘵?"

I let out the breath I was holding. Here it comes--

"I always knew something sick like this would happen! Every time I came over they acted like I was a cold--like they were waiting for me to leave! Excuse me, but Han's my best friend and I am here for a bloody reason! And how they treated you! They treated you like-like a doll! Like a puppet! They are the worst -- wait, Han, why did they do that?"

I didn't say anything.

"Han. They wouldn't dump you on the streets if they didn't have a reason."

"My wallet," I whispered. "It's still there."

"Oh, Han..."

"I told them."

Rachel grimaced. "Is that why they kicked you out?"

"Dad threw a remote at me."

Rachel swore under her breath.

"What am I going to do?"

Rachel chewed on her lip. Then she hopped up and I heard her walking down the stairs. She reappeared a moment later. "It looks like you're staying with us, Han."

"Really?" I ask hopefully.

"Really really, babe," Rachel said firmly. "And I'm doing something about your stuff."

And, knowing Rachel, I knew she would.