Meg Moves Out

Do you hate your family?

I mean really, really, hate your family?

Like, if a gunman were to put a gun to their head, and ask you who you wanted to live, and you'd tell him, without batting an eye, to just kill them all?

I'm not the only one.

I hope I'm not the only one.

Those are the questions I ask myself as I sit in my room and type on my computer. I know you'll tell me, 'the hatred is temporary, you love them deep down in your heart', and I'll tell you to go fuck yourself, because you're a self-pretentious prick. You don't know all the crap I put up with, all the pain, the cuts, the suicide attempts I endure because of my whacked out family. They belittle me, they dehumanize me, and they act like I'm not part of the family; the family dog gets treated better than me! I thought it was me at first, but as I got older, I know it's them. They're the assholes, not me. Once I figured out that conclusion, I've been mapping out plans to move out and start life anew, without my family. I'm 18 now, graduated from high school with Top Honors, and am fully capable of taking care of myself. While my self-involved family goes on some illogical shenanigan I'm busy working, saving up every last cent for a nice apartment in New York.

New York, if you can make it there you can make it anywhere; I plan to go there soon and make it as a writer. I've got everything set up, roommate included. In the next month, I'm packing my bags and leaving. It's so close I could taste it.

"Meg, come down here I want to show you something."

Lard-ass wants me. I sign off on my computer and leave to see what he wants. Probably use me as a butt monkey in a desperate attempt for a cheap laugh.

As usual, he proved me right. I wipe the fart smell off my face and stare at my calendar, the red X's bringing me comfort. One month: four weeks and three days and I'm out of here. This is all I need to stay sane, to keep my composure and not snap. All I need is to play the waiting game. I rub my computer, the hum making me smile. This computer has helped me through the hard times, helped me earn some money. It has all of my stories, all of my thoughts and insecurities, all of the memories that were actually happy. This thing is the closest I have to a best friend.

"Goodnight, Betty." I tell her before going to bed, ready to start anew.

"Welcome to Chunky Chuckies, may I take your order?" I ask a random customer. The restaurant is packed with people and I'm stuck working the graveyard shift because Connie bailed at the last minute. I don't mind; any excuse to stay out of the house is fine with me. The customer tells me his order and I write it down and tack it onto the list of orders as the man gives me his money. I give him change and welcome the next customer. The hours feel long and boring until it is closing time. The last one leaves and it's time to close shop.

I mop the floor and wipe the grease off the work station when Mr. McGee, my boss, stops me.

"How long have you been working?"

"I don't know," I admitted.

"I know it's longer than the hours I gave you! Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"No, Mr. McGee. I had to cover for Connie. Again."

"Well her pay will be cut in half and you will get a bonus. You're a lot of help around this restaurant, Meg. I want to promote you to Assistant Manager."

"Thank you, Mr. McGee, but I don't think it's necessary," I tell him. He quirks an eyebrow.

"Why not?"

"I'm not going to be here long. Next month I'm packing my bags and going to New York."

"I see," He sits down in the booth and beckons me to sit with him.

"What's out there for you in the Big Apple?"

"Distance and a dream."

"Rhode Island that bad for you, huh?"

"It's just my family. I need to get as far away from them as I can,"

"Well, distance makes the heart grow fonder. You have fun in New York and make it there. I want to see you in the funnies one day. Now get out of here and go home. You've earned it."

"Will do, Mr. McGee. Will do." I grab my coat and leave, heart brimming with pride. I imagine my name in lights, 'Meg Griffin, famous author, publishes another bestseller!' What story should I write? A heart-stopping thriller, a dramatic love story, a vampire fic that would save the vampire folklore from the disaster known as Twilight? The possibilities are endless.

I come to Spooner Street and sigh. I honestly do not want to come home; I'd much rather go to Quagmire's than home. I look at the front window of my house and witness my family playing charades, laughing and having fun. I'm actually jealous. I enter the house and the fun stops.

"Meg, why do you smell like grease? You decided to wear your natural smell?"

"No, Dad. I was working. You know, that thing you do that pays bills?" I reply. I have no energy to listen to them rag on me. I have to edit my latest story and submit it in hopes of a scholarship. I rush up the steps and into my room. I close the door, lock it, and I notice something missing. My computer.

My computer, that held my future in its technological hands, is missing.

Who took it?

I bolt down the steps and in a heartbeat, I ask, "Where is my computer?"

"We trashed it after reading your stories." Chris says. I grab him by the shirt and slam him into the wall.

"You. Did. What?"

"Why do you care? You can always get a new one," Dad interjected. My blood is starting to boil. My computer was my lifeline; it held my stories, my future and it is my confidante. And poof, just like that, my stories, my future, and my friend, is gone.

"Why did you do that, Dad?"

"We thought it would be funny. You should've seen it when we dragged it by the truck. It was like skiing but with-"

"I. Hate. You." I managed to say, my hands are bleeding with how much pressure my nails are digging in my palms.

"What was that, sweetheart?" Mom asks.

"I hate you!" I screamed.

"Is that loud enough for you? I hate this family! You guys love taking a steaming pile of crap on my dreams, my hopes, and my sanity! What you guys have done is rob me of a future! That computer held my career, my dreams, and you trashed it? For a laugh? I've had it up to here with this bullshit! I'm moving out! Good luck finding someone that can put up with you because I'm done being the one." I stomp upstairs and snatch my clothes and belongings. Mom bursts open the door and glares at me.

"Listen to me, young lady. You have no right having an outburst like that. You should be…"

"Should be what, Mom? Taking it with a smile? I've been this family's punching bag for all these years and when I bite back you want to act like the victim? And you, you're supposed to be my mother and you treat me the worst! You made me go through an eating disorder, you made me cut myself because you'd always belittle me and make fun of me for not looking like the girls who teased me! I hate you most of all. I hope you drop dead," I spat.

For once, Mom looked hurt. Really hurt.

"I didn't know you felt that way, Meg. If that's how you feel, then you can get out of here, and never come back." She says quietly.

"Gladly," I told her, before grabbing my bags and heading out the door.

I gave one last look at my family: Dad looks confused, Chris looks terrified, Stewie looks amused, Brian looks worried, and Mom, she won't even look at me. I swallowed the tears that are building in my throat and I turn my back on them.

I don't know where I'm going and I honestly don't care.

Meg Griffin no longer has a family. Her family died when the mother turned her back on her.