Aidan had learned to wake up to silence. The kind of silence that comes after a storm, when the house is still, too still, and the air feels heavy with unspoken words. He lay in his bed, eyes wide open, listening to the distant sounds of his father's snores coming from the living room. He didn't need to check the clock. It was always the same. Early morning. The world outside still dark. Aidan's heart was heavy, as it often was when he woke up in the early hours, before everything went wrong. He didn't know if it was his father's alcohol-soaked breath or the tension between his parents that made him feel so small, but it didn't matter. He was used to it now. It was just part of his life.
Aidan pulled his blankets tighter around him, wishing for the moment to stretch out, wishing he could stay hidden forever. He was twelve, and his life felt so much older than that. His mother, Claire, had tried for years to protect him, but it never lasted. No matter how hard she tried, his father's rage always found a way to break through.
"Aidan!" His father's voice broke through the stillness of the morning, rough and sharp.
Aidan squeezed his eyes shut, but it was no use. The storm had already started. It always started with that voice. He could already hear his father's heavy footsteps, could already feel the tension building up in his chest.
He pushed the blankets aside, his feet hitting the cold floor, and walked toward the living room, his head down, his body small, trying not to draw attention to himself. He knew better than to protest. He had learned that silence was the best defense. His father was unpredictable. But silence—his silence—was the only thing that seemed to keep him from exploding.
The living room was dimly lit, the blinds drawn down. The television was on, showing a late-night infomercial, but Aidan's father, Daniel, wasn't watching. His bloodshot eyes were fixed on Claire, his mother, who was sitting on the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest. Aidan could see the fear in her eyes, but also something else—a quiet resignation. She had stopped fighting back a long time ago.
Daniel turned his head sharply when Aidan entered, his glare cold, like he'd been waiting for him. "What are you doing, boy?" His voice was slurred, but Aidan could tell that his father wasn't drunk enough to forget the power he held.
Aidan didn't answer right away. He never did. The less he said, the less likely it was that his father would turn on him. His stomach churned with dread, but he had learned to hide it.
"Answer me when I talk to you!" Daniel barked, his voice rising.
"I'm sorry," Aidan mumbled, lowering his head. His mother's eyes flickered to him, but she said nothing. She never did.
Daniel stood up, stumbling a little, but his towering frame still loomed over Aidan. "You're sorry? You don't even know what you're sorry for. You're just a useless, good-for-nothing kid." His words felt like slaps, each one more painful than the last.
Aidan's throat tightened, but he didn't let himself cry. He couldn't. He had learned to swallow his tears long ago. The more you showed you were hurting, the more they came for you.
The room fell silent again, the tension thick in the air. Aidan could hear his own heartbeat, each thump loud in his ears, but his father didn't speak again. Instead, he stormed out of the room, his boots pounding against the floor. Aidan didn't dare look at his mother as she sat there, frozen, her face pale.
When he was sure his father was in the other room, Aidan finally let out the breath he'd been holding. "Mom, are you okay?"
Claire's hands shook as she slowly placed the pillow down and looked at him, her eyes full of something he couldn't quite understand—guilt? Sadness? Maybe even shame? "I'm fine, Aidan. Just… go get ready for school. It'll be better once he's gone."
Aidan nodded, though his stomach was still tight. He wanted to ask her why she stayed, why she didn't leave him, but he knew better than that. She had always been too scared to leave. And, he realized, so was he.
---
The day at school felt like a blur to Aidan. He went through the motions—sat in his classes, answered questions when asked, but his mind was always drifting, his thoughts always returning to his mother, and the way she looked so broken. He wished he could do something to fix her, fix them both.
He had made a promise to himself, a silent vow when he was younger, that one day he would be strong enough to get them out of this. But it didn't seem like that day would ever come.
During lunch, Aidan sat alone at the back of the cafeteria, picking at his food. He didn't have any friends. He didn't know how to explain his life to anyone. His classmates didn't get it—they didn't understand what it was like to go home every night and brace for impact, wondering what kind of mood his father would be in today.
A hand tapped his shoulder, and Aidan's heart skipped a beat. He turned around, expecting to see someone from the school's bullies, but it wasn't.
"Hey, you okay?" The voice belonged to a boy from his math class, Ben. Aidan had always noticed Ben, but they had never really talked before. Ben was friendly enough, always smiling, but Aidan didn't know how to respond.
Aidan looked down at his lunch tray, unable to meet Ben's eyes. "Yeah. I'm fine."
Ben frowned. "You don't look fine. You've been staring at your food for like, fifteen minutes. You sure everything's okay?"
Aidan felt his face heat up. He didn't want anyone to know what was going on at home. He didn't want to be pitied. "I said I'm fine," he repeated, his voice quieter than he intended.
Ben was silent for a moment. Then, to Aidan's surprise, he sat down across from him, uninvited, and gave him a small smile. "You don't have to talk about it. But just so you know, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here. I won't judge you, okay?"
Aidan blinked, surprised by the kindness. He didn't know how to react, but something inside him stirred. He wanted to believe Ben, wanted to trust him, but how could he? He didn't even know how to trust himself anymore.
"Thanks," Aidan mumbled, looking up briefly. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel something—hope. It wasn't much, but it was something.
---
That night, after another shouting match between his parents, Aidan couldn't take it anymore. He was tired. Tired of the yelling. Tired of the fear. Tired of pretending.
He couldn't change his father. He couldn't change his mother. But maybe, just maybe, he could change something for himself.
Aidan sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the small duffel bag he had packed weeks ago, the one he had hidden under his bed. It wasn't much—just a few changes of clothes, some money he'd managed to save from doing small jobs for neighbors, and his journal. He couldn't leave without it. The journal was the one place he had been able to pour out his thoughts, his feelings.
Tonight, something felt different. The anger, the fear—it was still there, but it wasn't as overwhelming as it used to be. Aidan took a deep breath, grabbed the bag, and headed to the door.
His heart pounded as he crept down the hall, trying to be as quiet as possible. The floorboards creaked under his feet, but he didn't stop. He knew that if he turned back now, he wouldn't leave. But if he didn't leave now, he might never leave.
He reached the front door and paused. The house was still. Too still. His mother was asleep, and his father… Aidan didn't know. He didn't care.
He opened the door as quietly as he could, slipping out into the cold night air. The world outside was dark, but for the first time in a long time, Aidan didn't feel so alone.
He didn't know where he was going. He didn't care. He just needed to get away.
---
It took hours for Aidan to find a bus stop, and when he did, he didn't know where he was heading. Somewhere, anywhere.
He was scared. His hands trembled as he sat on the bench, clutching his bag tightly. But he was also free. For the first time in his life, he felt like he could breathe. The pain, the anger, it was still there, but for the first time, he had a choice.
He had the power to change his story.
Aidan didn't know where he was going yet. But he was going to figure it out. And no matter how hard it got, no matter how far he had to run, he wasn't going to let fear control him anymore.
He had already survived the storm. And now, he was going to rebuild.