I hear
light footsteps creeping down the hall. I heard someone turn my door knob. I
hid my face under the blanket. I stayed as still as I could so he thought I was
sleeping. I heard the click-clack of heels heading towards my room. Her heels
were softened from my carpet. I glanced at my clock. It was almost one a.m.
They were back from the casino. I hated
her. Her twenty-six year old self. Such a gold digger. She was always drunk and
now so was he. She ruined my life.
“I bet
Camel-“
“It’s
Camille,” my father interjects in a drunk slur.
“Whatever.
Camille, camel, same thing.” Holly, my dad’s whore of a new wife replies
loudly. “I bet she had a guy over. I bet he came as soon as we left.”
I peek
my head out of the blankets enough to see my dad wrap his arms clumsily around
the whore’s tiny waist. “Come on, relax. Let’s let her sleep,” slurs my dad. I
know he is trying to defend me, when it comes to her, he usually gives up.
I see
Holly, or, as I call her, Whore-y, look towards my bed. I try to hide my face
before she sees, but unfortunately, think it’s too late. When I think it’s
safe, I poke my head out of the blanket again to see her smirking at my dad.
“Yeah, Mitch. Why don’t we go to our bed?” She grabs my father by the back of
his neck and kisses him ferociously, adding emphasis to what she just said.
I cover
my face, not wanting to see any more. I hear their footsteps leaving my room.
The door slams behind them, and I know that it’s Whore-y that slammed it. I
have a hard time going back to sleep due to the high pitched screams that
travel to me through the walls. The next morning, I walk down our carpeted
steps. I am wearing dark blue jeans and t-shirt with a dark blue floral pattern.
When I get to the landing, I grab my favorite fluffy gray zip-up sweatshirt. I
put it on as I walk into the kitchen. I see my father sitting at the kitchen
island with his head in his hands and an aspirin bottle right next to him. I
roll my eyes, thinking about how often this happens and go to the fridge to get
milk for my cereal. As I close the fridge, I turn around to see Whore-y
standing in the doorway wearing a short, revealing silky robe, her hair a mess.
I
ignore her and begin preparing my bowl of cereal. I hear her cross to where my
father is and she starts cooing in his ear about the night before. “Aw, baby,
are you ok?” She pauses, waiting for him to respond. When he doesn’t, she
continues, “Well that’s ok, because last night was really worth it.” The entire
time she is trying to show “sympathy” for my father, she is glaring at me.
For the
first time since I came into the kitchen, my father looks up at me. I wait for
him to speak, but he doesn’t. I take my bowl of cereal with me to the other end
of the island, trying to make myself as far away from them as possible, eating
my cereal as fast as I can so I can get the hell out of here. Once I am done
eating, hurry out the door to catch my bus to school. I think I’m the only
teenaged girl in the world that prefers school to home. The bus ride to school
was peaceful. As I walk into school I see my best friend Ivy was standing by
our lockers and texting on her phone. I walked up to her thankful to be around
someone who didn’t drive me completely insane.
“Sup
bitch.” She greeted me like that all the time
I walked towards her and hugged her.
“Bad
night?” She asked hugging back
“Very
bad. I really hate Holly! She got my father drunk once again.”
“Has he
been bad?” Asked Ivy
“Well
he has become violent. But last night he was alright. I could hear him and
Whore-y having sex.”
Ivy and I walked to class. Ivy had been my best friend since
sixth grade. She was the only one who really knew the reason why my mom died.
We just told everyone she was sick. Well she was but not like cancer or cough,
cough sick. My mom used to do drugs before she met my dad. She quit long before
me, but three years ago when I was fourteen my aunt, cousin and grandfather
died in a car crash
No comments:
Post a Comment