That unmistakable, dreaded sound. An ugly truck was pulling up in front of her house again. In a flash, Mio abandoned the dish she was doing, sprinted upstairs into her room, and dove under the duvet.
One more thing: she silenced her cellphone. The last time, they had called him and made him call her to open the door for them.
At all hours, what were they thinking?
Was this a convenience store? A 7-Eleven?
Mio had never known true peace of mind from the day she moved in with him. Her mental health had been going downhill ever since.
Even when Mio had sneaked out of work early, desperate to discharge and recharge, it had always been her coping mechanism for her anxiety. She would need time out now and then, a day or two, and she’d be fully functional again.
But now, she knew they'd be there again.
Would she ever reclaim her privacy?
This was just too much; it made Mio feel like burning the house down. Did they even know what a boundary or respect was?
There were times when Mio would reach home from work, only to see their vehicle already parked there. She would then make a detour, driving aimlessly for hours, eating dinner in her car, just hoping they’d be gone by then.
What kind of life was this? A home she couldn't even go back to?
But today, they knew she was at home. She couldn't care much anymore; he wasn't there, and they were pressing the doorbell nonstop. Let them press, for all she cared.
She simply couldn't take this kind of intrusion anymore.
Photo by Brands&People on Unsplash
©Britt H.
Thank you for reading this.
Freewrite Writing Prompt Day 2798: AN UGLY TRUCK by @Freewritehouse. Thanks to @marianneweste @latino.romano, @wakeupkitty, and @felt.buzz
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