Rose looks like Billie piper, but with darker eyes
(Rated M for drug and alcohol use, language, themes, and later chapters)
I sit down cross-legged staring at the tv becoming impatient with my father's absence. He has been out for at least four hours, at a bar, drinking.
Suddenly the door opens.
"Heyyyy Rose Tylor!" my father slurs.
I roll my eyes at my drunk nickname.
"Nice to see you too dad," I sigh.
He stumbles a bit as he stumbles to the chair next to me. I sigh and move to another chair further away from him.
"Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
"I don't feel comfortable around you when you're drunk."
"Whyyyy?"
"Because you don't act a bit too nice sometimes!"
"What do you mean sweetie?"
"For starters, the names. You refer to me as sweetheart, sweetie, which aren't that bad, but you've referred to me as things like hottie and hot lips. I'm your daughter for god's sake! You can't call me things like that! And second, you have um, um, um…"
"Spit it out!"
"You've flirted with me before!"
"What?! Surely you must have misunderstood!"
"Gee, did I misunderstand this, 'Hey, Do you have a sunburn, or are you always this hot?' Huh?!"
"Oh my god! I said that?!"
"Yeah!"
"That is so cheesy!"
"Really?! That's what your concerned about?! Not that you hit on your daughter?!"
"Well, I was drunk so it was justified."
I huff and run upstairs to my room. I slam the door as hard as possible. I throw myself on my bed and begin to sob.
"Damned it, Abraham! Why did you have to die?! Why didn't you accept my father's offer?! It would have made things easier for all of us! Especially us! We're never going to die! We're stuck here without you!"
I hear a slam and know my father has gone to bed. I let out a few more sobs and curl into a ball.
I slowly drift to sleep.