What I would love to have in the morning is quite simple: peace. You would think that would be a rather possible request, however fate deemed otherwise.
“Fucking bitch!” I hear my dad half yell half groan as I kicked his lifeless shell which he called his body. I hadn’t realised how skinny he’d been getting lately, spending the money he didn’t have on booze rather than food. I didn’t have the sympathy to feel any duty in looking after him, making sure he’s feed and somewhat healthy. He’d drink himself silly each night, and I should help him? I wish he wouldn’t come home. I wish he would just stay out, sleep on the sidewalk or in the dumpsters, I don’t care. But when he’s here, hopelessly at my mercy, all I am able to show him is compassion, not what I’d rather it be: the door.
Manoeuvring my way around to his shoulders, I scoop underneath his arms, bring his back right to my chest, and begin to drag with all my strength, which was generally quite diminished. It was a blessing my father had lost weight. I back my way up until reaching the stairs, cursing and hissing with each step up, gripping onto his shoulders with force fuelled by disappointment. My dad was stirring slightly as I wallowed in pity, and I was pleased to find he took so much comfort in my suffering that it sent him to sleep.
Once we made it up the stairs, a sigh of relief left my body, although soon replaced by the dread of knowing the next morning would be no different. It was but an inescapable factor of my life now, my morning routine, to drag my drunk father to his bed.
After managing to shift my dad into his room, I was so exhausted, I feel my eyes slowly close, fighting to stay open but inevitably losing. After I don't know how long, I wake up, deciding to leave my dad on the carpet, becoming fed up of repeating the same tireless actions day by day.
I trudged back down the stairs, half aware, half asleep, and shrieked at the sight of a broad figure looming over the kitchen counter. His head whipped around, eyes wide with a startled expression, but soon relaxed as he saw it was me.
“Morning, Alex,” my brother, Matthew, exclaims, raising his coffee mug to his mouth, a slight smirk on his face. “Heard you knocking about early.” I snarled at his grin, knowing he could hear my struggles but showed me no kindness this morning as to help.
“Didn’t want to get me a coffee, asshole?” I growl, in no mood for his shit today. I stuck up my middle finger as I dashed over to the coffee pot, in desperate need of caffeine to boost my energy and spirit.
“Fuck, you seen the time? Not even dressed yet and five minutes until you have to leave for your new school,” he comments with a sly smile that I so badly want to wipe off his smug face. I refrain, peering at the clock, realising that I was going to start sophomore year and a new year labelled as late. I huffed, sprinting to my room.
My parents’ divorce was rough, uncivil and inevitably crushing for everyone. Over the summer, dad and I moved to California for a new start where Matt had already been sent and set up by our parents. My dad and stress do not pair well. I was worried at first; it’s now second nature to find my dad passed out, sprawled out on the kitchen floor. My mum, she flew like a bird from us, right into the arms of some young hot shot lawyer I can never remember the name of. She calls me from time to time, which I decline every time. If she doesn’t have time to care for me, why should I spend the time to talk to her?
I glare into the mirror at myself, my blonde hair cascading over my shoulders, my blue orbs piercing into my own soul. I contemplate my outfit choice - a cute suede burgundy pinafore dress with a white fitted off-shoulder top underneath, paired with black heeled boots. I hadn’t even felt the slightest anxiety yet, and doubted I will at this point. I had been through a lot that everything seemed easy to get through.
I sling my black backpack over one shoulder and head out, dreading walking into a silent class with every pair of ears turning my way. Matt had left already, the fucker, in his new motor with Kai, who lived with Matt, and now my dad and I. Oh Kai Walker, many a girl doted on him, their notebooks filled with I (heart) Kai, but Walker was trouble. He had that certain look that could both melt your heart whilst also run the other way. He's intimidating but not to me. To me, he looks like real trouble. Matt had deemed me off limits, not just to Walker but the rest of his school. Now my school. Kai was a piece of work to say the least, and whilst eating dinner, his gaze was fixated on me the entire time, eyes boring into my soul, in both a creepy and hot way. Kai would say a few things to me here and there, smirked a few times and got agitated a few times. Matt was a senior, as was Kai, so commanded the respect of all other humans at school. Kai was quarterback, naturally, and Matt was captain of the team. They had apparently offered captaincy to Kai but he turned it down, stating he would prefer to not have that responsibility or some shit. I think there was another reason though, a deeper, darker one. Or I just love drama. Why not? My whole life was drama, what would it matter if I wanted everything else to be too?
As I strolled down the corridors of my new school, it dawned on me that I had no clue as to what I was doing. Son of a bitch hung me out to dry.