They never cared, never listened, never looked at me like I was theirs, was never there for me, never wanted me. And though they never said it to my face I knew that they never wanted me. I was only the daughter that could never carry their father's last name and continue the biasness that had been passed down from generation to generation. It didn't matter what I did to please them, I wasn't what they wanted. As I grow older I found that I wasn't the "preppy" type in school. I was more of the "Goth" as people call it. I just call it freedom of expression and negligence to following the pig headed trend setters that seemed to own the social circle in school. So yea I didn't exactly make school the essayist because of the way I dressed, but I never started a fight because of the way I was treated. But it didn't stop the way I was blamed for the fights that did happen and the blood that was spilt; mostly mine just too clear things up. It never surprised me that because I was blamed for it that my parents believed it there for ending me up in even more trouble that I never deserved. So it didn't surprise me that even after we moved from our home in the big city life into a smaller town that they still treated me like I was the enemy.
The first day at the new house I helped the movers move everything into the house while my parents sat on their asses drinking wine. The roar of motorcycles emanated through the air caching my attention. Looking over to where I had heard it coming from I saw nine of them coming down the road; all of them sporting a cut with the logo of a grim reaper and the words Sons of Anarchy on the back. I watched as they all pulled up into the drive way across the street from the new house. They all cut their engines, took off their helmets and dismounted their motorcycles. Just then I heard the sound of the screen door open and my father yelling at me. "Shase hurry up and bring in the rest of the boxes. You know the movers can't stay all day and we're paying them by the hour." Then just like that he went back inside. With a quick look back across the street I saw all of the people looking at me with frowns on their faces. I couldn't tell if it was out of curiosity or something else. With a sigh I turned back to my work at hand; picking up a particular heavy box I made my way up to the house and balancing the boxes in one hand and with the other finagled the door open. "Well if it isn't miss slow on the uptake." My mother sneered as she saw me make my way through the living room and to the kitchen. This wouldn't be the first time she's degraded me with names. Ignoring it the best I could I made my way out of the house again to get another box. I noticed that the group of people had gone into the house already, leaving me to work without the gawking stars of others.
It didn't take long to fall into a rotini. Get up, go to school, be treated like shit, listen as my parents yell at me for something that wasn't my fault. It was just like being back in the big city. And like back in the big city I was the outcast Goth that ended up bloody from a fight that I didn't start. It had only been a week since we moved in and I was already on my way back home; suspended from school, because I was considered the cause of the fight. "I can't believe you've only been in school a week, and already starting fights. What are you going to do next steel a car!" my dad bellowed as he walked up to the house. "I already told you I didn't start the fight, that boy did." I said exasperated. "Stop lying Shase, just stop it already. Everyone pointed at you when it came to who started the fight." "And did you ever stop to think that every one of those who pointed at me was a fucking prep that was all friends protecting one of their own." I yelled back. "Don't you yell at me young lady! This isn't about them it's about you and your constant lying." "Why don't you just admit that you never wanted me? I'm just a daughter that couldn't take on your last name. That's why you blame me for everything. Blame me as the reason why mom can't have any more children. You never listen, you never cared." He had stopped in the middle of the yearned and turned around to face me, anger showing clearly on his face. "Yes I blame you. You are the reason why she can't have any more kids. You're nothing but a parasite sucking the life out of everything; worthless scum. You should have never been born." He yelled and made his way inside. I spit out a wad of bloody saliva and turned around to walk down the block only to see that three bickers were across the street had been watching the fight. They probably thought I was crazy for all the blood that covered my face. Blood filed my mouth again and I spit it out on the ground before turning away from them and walking away.
I wondered into the woods not caring if I ended up lost or hurt. My parents could care less if I came back or not. I don't know how long I sat out here just writing in my note book. I didn't even bother to clean up my face other than making sure my nose wasn't crooked. By the time I found myself wondering back to my house it was dark out. No one was on the streets. As I approached my house I noticed that there were more motorcycles in the drive way across the street. But that wasn't my concern; it was the fact that the door to the house was locked, the lights were off and the car was gone. Being the "loving" parents that I have I didn't have a set of house keys to get in, and I hadn't gotten around to unlocking my window that I normally found myself climbing throw on such occasions. So I found myself sitting on the front step to the house waiting for them to come back; which wouldn't be for who knows how long. I heard the front door open to the house across the street as someone stepped out. It was too dark to see which one it was. "You locked out?" I heard an older voice ask. Whoever it was was walking torts me. "Yea wouldn't be the first time this has happened." I said in a spiteful voice. By this time I could see that it was the guy with short whit/gray hair and mustache. He was warring his cut like always. "You want to wait at my house, my wife made diner and we always have too much." I raised one of my eyebrows out of wonder. "For real?" I wasn't use to being asked to go anywhere. "Yea, you look like you need a hand." I thought for a second and then stud up and offered my hand in introduction. "Names Shase." I said. He shook my hand. "Clay." I nodded and followed him across the street to his place.