Some Things We Don't Talk About

"No" I spat across the dinner table with an icy tone. Ella, my half-sister, just sat there astonished, not really sure what to do.

My father, Jeb Martinez, looked back at me with a look of cold cruelness, a look that said I don't care what you think, this is what it will be.

My dear stepmother, Valencia (or Dr. Martinez to most) quietly cried into her cloth napkin.

"I'm sorry Max, this has to happen." Jeb has just told us that he will be serving in the Army. I love Jeb to death. I knew he was sacrificing himself, but I just couldn't let him.

"I am proud to be serving my country, Max. You, Ella, and Valencia will be moving to a new house by the army base, provided by the government. You'll meet other kids there, it will be great." I was so not convinced. Why did he have to do this to us?

I got up, banging the chair against the wall behind me. Storming out of the room I screamed, "I hate my life!" and pounded up the stairs. My family called after me, but I didn't care. I ran into my room and slammed the door, making the house shake.

I'm probably throwing a lot on your plate right now. You're standing there, wondering what the hell is going on. Well, here you go:

My name is Maximum Martinez. I prefer Max. It sounds more badass. I am sixteen years old. Some people call me Goth, but I really am not. So what, I love converse, hate makeup, and listen to hardcore rock. I choose bands like 30 Second To Mars and Linkin Park instead of the latest pop hits. I don't think I should be labeled for that, but whatever. I mean, I've done a ton of sketchy things on the past, but we'll get to that later, or, like, never.

I live in New Hampshire in a nice neighborhood. My father Jeb is the only on in this house that is blood related to me. My real mother self-abused herself when I was barely one year old. I even have old scars from when she got high and slapped me. I don't remember it though. I hate her.

Jeb married Valencia when I was two and a half. Jeb and Valencia had Ella when I was three, Valencia getting pregnant before their wedding. I love Ella; she's a great kid. Valencia is a vet, and my father used to work along with her.

Not anymore. As of my father's announcement, he is enrolled in the Army. That means we have to move to the whole FREAKING OTHER SIDE of the country. I love Jeb, but he's done things like this before, and it's really hard trying to trust him.

Anyways, back to reality.

I blasted What I've Done by Linkin Park on my iPod and flopped on the bed. After about a half hour, Dr. M came up. Yeah, I don't really call my parents Mom or Dad. It's Jeb or Dr. M. Nothing else.

Dr. M knocked on my door with one finger. "Max, can we talk?" She asked quietly. She knew how stubborn I could be.

I sighed, not wanting to break her anymore than she already is. I knew how torn she was about this, how risky it was for Jeb to put his life on the life for the country. I got up and unlocked my door, granting her entry. She came in and sat of the edge of my bed.

"Max, I know how you feel. I don't want this either. But think of it this way, You can make new friends, go to a new place, do new things-"

"Yeah, while I watch my Dad kill himself." I interrupted, just as For a Pessimist, I'm Pretty Optimistic by Paramore blasted from the speakers. I groaned. I didn't want to handle the irony of the title right now.

A little tear slid down her cheek. "Just… start packing. We're leaving in three days."

She left the room and quietly closed the door. This was going to be a long three days.