I Wish I Wore a Condom Because the Hooker Ended Up Being My Mom

I sit in my car outside our house, gripping the steering wheel like it's the only thing keeping me from floating away. Three hours with Sabrina somehow made the world feel almost normal again.

Burger King had turned into a walk around campus, which turned into coffee at some indie place with chalkboard menus. Sabrina talked the entire time about anime, her classes, her therapist, who's apparently "the shit," and how she's convinced raccoons have secret societies. Her mind jumps tracks faster than a derailed train, but somehow keeping up with her chaos helped quiet mine.

But now I'm home, and reality waits inside like a crouching predator.

Mom's car sits in the driveway, gleaming under the afternoon sun. At least she's not out... working. The thought makes my stomach twist with a confusing mix of relief and something darker I refuse to name.

"You got this," I mutter to myself, grabbing my backpack from the passenger seat. "Just act normal. Go to your room. Lock the door if you have to."

The walk to the front door feels like crossing a minefield. Each step bringing me closer to a conversation I'm not ready to have. I slide my key into the lock, the metal cool against my sweaty fingers, and push the door open.

The house is quiet. Too quiet. No TV humming in the background, no dinner sounds from the kitchen. Just silence that feels thick enough to choke on.

"Mom?" I call out, hating how my voice cracks on that single syllable.

Nothing.

I exhale slowly, shoulders dropping as tension bleeds from my body. Maybe she's out for a walk. Maybe I've got a reprieve, a few hours to figure out what the fuck I'm going to say to her.

I head up the stairs, each step creaking under my weight like the house itself is announcing my presence. The hallway stretches before me, my bedroom door at the end like a finish line. Just make it there, shut the door, and figure out the rest later.