spent most of last night dragging this lake
for the corpses of all my past mistakes
sell me out- the jokes on you
We are salt- and you are the wound
Empty another bottle
And let me tear you to pieces
This is me wishing you
Into the worst situations
I'm the kind of kid
That can't let anything go
But you wouldn't know a good thing
If it came up and slit your throat
Your remorse hasn't fallen on deaf ears
Rather ones that just don't care
cause I know
That you're in between arms somewhere
Next to heartbeats
Where you shouldn't dare sleep
Now I'll teach you a lesson
For keeping secrets from me
Take your taste back
Peel back your skin
And try to forget how it feels inside
You should try saying no once in a while
oh once in a while
And did you hear the news?
I could dissect you
And gut you on the stage
Not as eloquent as I may have imagined
But it will get the job done(and you're done)
Every line is plotted and designed
To leave you standing
On your bedroom window's ledge
And everyone else that it hits
That it gets to
Is nothing more than collateral damage
Take your taste back
Peel back your skin
And try to forget how it feels inside
You should try saying no once in a while
oh once in a while...
chapter one
"This...isn't happening." were the only words that could escape my dry throat. I was standing in the stairwell, watching my mother cry. Watching her cry as my father dragged his bags into his car through the rain. Keys in the ignition, headlights on the garage door, wheels spinning...he was gone. No sound left but sobs and thunder. It rattled the windows and it shook the stairs of the huge house that now only held two. Standing there at the base of the huge double staircase of our giant house, I wondered where it went from here. Dad brought in all the money, dad the lawyer. Mom was a stay at home mom, we couldn't stay in this lawyer bought house...but where would we go?
"What do you think of this house honey?" asked my mother, sliding the newspaper towards me. I looked at the snapshot, disgusted. It was so small. Two stories, eight rooms, one car garage, not attached. It was an ugly creamy yellow with dark blue shutters. Compared to this house, it looked like it was a garage itself. Not a place I really wanted to live, but one glance at the price and I knew we were moving there.
"I'll go start packing." I sighed as I pushed away from the counter. I'm not the kind of girl who fights the inevitable. Moving was something I knew would happen, I'm smart like that, I don't fight what I cant control...contrary to popular belief, which is that I'm some kind of crazy rebel chick. I'm not. I honestly just dress like I am. Like right now, I'm walking around in jeans barely holding onto it's threads, with hot pink tights over them, and a Smiths t-shirt. My hair, oh I love my hair. It's chestnut brown, and comes down to the middle of my back, ending in blood red tips. It's really wavy, but I straighten it all the time. I have bangs that just graze my eyebrows and blend perfectly into the rest of my hair, except when I pull my hair back in little pink or blue or green plastic Barbie clips, which I do quite often (like now). My eyes are hazel and big, and always adorned with heavy black eyeliner, and either black or hot pink eye shadow, depending on my mood. I'm Heather Stephanie Paisley Matheson. Do not judge me.
Two weeks later, my mom and I started our drive from St. Paul, Minnesota to Wilmette, Illinois. I don't know much about the town, other than that it's right outside Chicago...I know that does not make it special. It was like a ten hour ride with all the traffic we got into, but eventually we arrived. I opened the door and almost fell down from my legs being so not used to standing up. The house looked better in person than it did in the paper. The yellow of the house was soft and a nice butter cream color, and the shutters were a dark sleepy navy. It looked bigger too. Maybe ten rooms, and it was wide, so that made for a big basement and it looked to have a big backyard. Yeah I don't know what I could possibly want with that. The house next door was white with the same blue shutters and a matching door. The snow on the roof and lawn made it look like a Christmas card. Almost on cue, a woman stepped out the front door.
"Hey there neighbor!" she called in a friendly voice. Something about her voice seemed familiar, as she began to draw closer, she stopped, and I got it. Lydia. My mom got it too, because she shreaked.
"Lydia!" She called.
"Stephanie!" the woman called back. I couldn't believe it. Did we really move in next to...him...and his mom? Lydia was plumper than she was when she and her son moved to Wilmette. She used to have me over to her house for playdates with her son, and vice versa. He was a nightmare. The terrible twos that didn't stop there. They moved to Wilmette when we were in the second grade
But this couldn't be possible. Just then, a tall tan boy emerged from the back yard. A huge grin spread across his face. No he never did miss a beat did he. He came bounding over to me...a miracle in those tight black pants. He stopped short in front of me and held out his arms for a hug. I entered it, just to humor him and muttered.
"Peter. Lewis. Kingston. Wentz."