Even fully submerged beneath the now-cold bathwater, they were loud. I didn't exactly need to hear every word that they spit back and forth at each other to know exactly what was being said; they were fighting. They were always fighting. About him drinking. About her sleeping with his best friend. About him getting fired. About her stealing money from his wallet. About him going to court. Again. About my brother. About me — though, that one was still hard to believe, even if it had become a common got-to for my mom whenever she needed to get back at my dad, or for whenever my dad needed to get back at my mom and bringing up her 'worthlessness' just wasn't enough.
Neither of my parents acknowledged me unless they had gone too many weeks, days, hours, seconds without having something to fight about.
I was the rope in their battle of tug-of-war, only they had forgotten the real reason as to why they needed me. They used me. Not me the person, but me the leverage. The difference between winning and losing. The last rock needed to upset the balance, whether it be in her favor or his. The final stroke to finish a masterpiece first. I wasn't their first pick, I wasn't even their second or third or fourth; I was just the deal-breaker, without a face to go along with the name.
Did they even know I lived right across the hall from them? Did they know that I was failing all of my classes? Do you know how hard it is to fail all of your classes? Did they see anything anymore?
I'm right here, Mom! Am I still your little girl, Dad?
Please. Just look at me. Please.
My palm smacked against the side of the tub, the muddled aftermath reaching my ears slowly, quietly, pleasantly. All of the logic I had left was desperate and grasping for air, my deteriorated compassion clinging onto that last speck of hope, onto my faded and dying will to keep surviving. My heart was beating. I was thinking clearly. I still wanted to live, didn't I? Not really, was my honest answer. What was there to really live for anymore? I didn't have a future. My past no longer brought a smile to my face. The present was a waking and persistent nightmare. It was a struggle, truly, to have to get up day after day and no longer smell pancakes burning on the griddle, to no longer see the passion in my mother's eyes — she just stared through me, it seemed. I was invisible — and to no longer hear my father greet me, spatula in hand, dressed all professional-like in his monkey suit, whenever I'd walk into the kitchen; "Good morning princess, how'd you sleep?" is what he'd always use say.
I used to be my mother's muse, my father's reason to get up early every Sunday to watch cartoons. I used to be important. I used to be the perfect student. The perfect daughter. The perfect friend. I used to be perfect — or, at least that's what I tell myself now. I was never perfect, but I'd been perfect in the sense that I'd had no problems. I'd been a free bird and, while I'd still had the chance, I should've just spread my wings. I shouldn't have taken everything for granted. I shouldn't have wished for my mom to leave me alone whenever I'd had boy-drama. I shouldn't have been embarrassed when she'd made a big deal about me getting my period for the first time. I shouldn't have gotten mad at my father whenever he'd use to force me to drink a full glass of milk every night before I went to sleep. I shouldn't have yelled at him for being late to parent-teacher conferences.
Because now he never shows up.
Because now she doesn't care.
Because now he doesn't say a word to me.
Because now she never makes me cookies as an after-school treat.
I'd once had everything—I'd had so much. A loving dad and an overly-involved mother, a happy home, food in the fridge, family-game-night, money to go to the movies with my friends, no interrogations from my school counselor asking where I got a bruise from. Everything. And I shouldn't have let my nerves, my lack of self-confidence, my worries, my stupid and ridiculous and annoying ignorance — I shouldn't have let the me I used to be, the pretty redheaded girl with her mother's eyes and father's cheekbones, keep myself from flying.
Because now...my wings are clipped.
Because now I have a can of soda for breakfast — if I'm lucky.
Because now I walk home in the snow.
Because now I don't have any friends./p
Because now I'm all alone.
And now...I'm lost.
I sit up, my mouth open wide, my skin coated with goosebumps, throat dry and greedy for air. Not today. There's always tomorrow. "...Shut up would you! For just five seconds, please!" "Don't you dare walk away from me you filthy, lying, cheating, worthless excuse for a man!" "Oh I'm worthless? I'm worthless! Who, who-who is the one keeping this family going—?" "You're the reason this family isn't a family anymore! Keeping this family going? HA!"
Their accusations, their shouting, their yelling, their voices were one in the same.
"You were supposed to pick her up from school!" my mother — I think — screamed.
"I can't be in two places at once, Jocelyn! While you were here, sitting on your ass, doing your nails, you could've easily—"
"With what? You take the car — the only car — every single day! And leave me here! And I don't sit on my ass all day doing nothing — I clean and pay the bills and do every fucking thing in my power to keep this place out of the bank's eye! We're one late payment away from losing everythi—"
"We've already lost everything! There's nothing more to lose!"
I released the bath-plug with long, pruned fingers, a loud clung bouncing off the linoleum as the soapy water started to drain, leaving me even more naked, even more exposed. When I'd first gotten into the tub, it had already been chilling and unpleasant —we didn't have any hot water — and, I know, most people would prefer a cold shower over a cold bath; they'd think me crazy if word got out that I just sat in an ice-cold bath for hours and hours every single night. Even I didn't know why I did what I did. It seemed as if once I got in, I'd keep telling myself 'two more minutes, and then I'll get out,' but that became a listless mantra. Showers took away from my thinking, I supposed. Baths were calm and quiet.
Steady.
"That's not true!" my mother shouted back.
"Oh, it's not?" my father laughed cruelly. "Our kids hate u. That good-for-nothing girl upstairs can't even be in the same room with me for more than two minutes! Our son left because he couldn't handle living here anymore! I know for a fact that once she's old enough, our daughter's going to leave too — I'm surprised she hasn't yet. We're horrible parents. We're horrible people—!"
"Shut up!"
"Why should I? It's not like I'm telling you anything you don't already know. Look inside the fridge—" there was a loud bang as the door to the fridge, I assumed, bounced aggressively against its neighboring cabinets "—What do you see? Nothing. There's no fucking food. And we've sold nearly all of our furniture! We're out of hot water again, this house is freezing and it's winter and we don't have the money to do anything about it! We're broke, Jocelyn! We've already lost everything and we've dug ourselves into this deep, dark hole that we're never getting out of!"
I got to my feet as I heard the porch-door swing open, then slam shut. Mom was probably going to smoke a cigarette. At least that's what she usually did after a big blow-up, even if it was negative-something-degrees outside. She'd sit on the top porch step, bundled up in one of her fake-leather jackets, and cry—more like ball her eyes out — ignorant of our curious neighbors. In between sobs, she'd inhale her cancer stick heavily, hold her breath for as long as she could, then release a large, black puff of smoke.
She never used to smoke when I was little./p
I wrapped myself in a small, grubby towel splotched with old bleach marks and marred with frayed ends. My feet against the cool tile of the bathroom floor prickled, igniting another wave of goosebumps up and down my legs; it was even colder without the protection of the water. I took a small step forward and stood in front of a mirror. It was cracked near the top left corner and the edges were growing black, but, give or take, it was still a mirror. I was thin. Very thin and I was pale, and freckly around my nose. Albeit and ironically enough, I was one of the few people that was worth a second glance. Then again, it's hard to avoid attention when you have fire-engine-red hair.
After running a brush through my dampened main and taking care of my teeth with a brittle toothbrush, I opened the door and stepped into the hallway with the intent to return to my room. However, once the bitter air hit me, I had come face-to-chest with a large wall of human flesh. I looked up slowly to meet my father's cold, gray eyes. His hands locked around my elbows to hold me in place, while mine clutched at the towel, trying to keep it up. I hadn't expected him to retreat upstairs; after a fight with my mom, he'd usually take the car and leave for a couple hours, sometimes for the rest of the night. I was surprised he hadn't left permanently by now.
I cowered under his gaze, beyond uncomfortable, but for the wrong reason: It didn't matter that I was standing in no more than a towel before him. It didn't matter to me. What mattered was that he was looking at me. He was giving me what I craved most, even if it wasn't much by any standards. Even if we only ran into each other by coincidence and he hadn't intentionally gone out of his way to visit with his one and only daughter. Even if I hadn't been given an ounce of his devotion in seemingly ever and it was unusual and scary and weird. We were standing so close. He could easily hug me — if he wanted me to. He could. Hi, Daddy, I wanted to say, though it remained silent until "You were in the bathroom for a long time" escaped past his lips.
I nodded, unable to find my voice.
"Your mom left for the evening," he told me.
I focused on my feet, trying to familiarize myself with what it felt like to hear his voice. Not his shouting-voice or his 'I'm gonna kill you' voice. Just his voice. He was talking to me. He was making a real effort — maybe he'd talk to me tomorrow too, on his own.
"How's, um, school going?"
I hardly shrugged. I didn't even know how to react around him anymore.
His hold on me ceased and then...he was gone, muttering something incoherent and angry under his before I could even think about reaching out to him, to beg him to stay, to keep trying. He was gone. Dad! I glanced down at myself, then at my parents' bedroom door closing, then at a dent in the drywall prominent in my sight directly across from where I stood. I retreated back inside the bathroom and went to the medicine cabinet hanging above the toilet, barely attached to its hinges.
I grabbed the first bottle of pills I could find and sank to the ground.
While keeping some of you guys who've read some of my other stories waiting, I got inspiration to start this story. And no, this will not be all depressing and sad for the entire story. Not even close. There will be a real plot line and some actual character development in this one. So basically I'm thinking that the entire world just loses its electricity and out of the blue, as if things couldn't get worse, unknown start appearing and raising havoc, and, well, it'll just be complete madness.
What do you guys think?
I'm still totally 100% invested in my other stories, but inspiration hits when inspiration hits!
Please review your thoughts and give me feedback on the prologue!
Until next time, peace.
