I really want to thank everyone that's read my story so far. It's the first one I've ever written, and I would really appreciate reviews!
So, The Day My Life Fell Apart started out just like any other Day My Life Stayed Together.
I woke up in my hideous bright pink room, which I had covered from ceiling to floor with posters and paintings and the pages of an old dictionary in a sad attempt to make it look cooler. I personally hate the color pink, because It's the embodiment of everything I hate about my family, yet kind of still want to be a part of, and it hates me back. The room used to be my sisters, but when she had grow out of her pink fairy princess phase (She's in a purple athlete princess phase now) I moved in. You see, if she thinks she's too cool for a pink room, then she gets moved out of it. I, on the other hand, have to tear up an Oxford dictionary.
It's not only that I think my parental units just like my sister more, it's just that I think they don't love me at all. They're not cruel or anything, I haven't been shoved into the cupboard under the stairs or something outlandish like that, but it's like I'm not even there.
Like, once I was trying to do as I was told pretty much every time I walked into a room with them in it. I was trying to be more like my sister. So, I tried out for my school's badminton team. I was pretty good at it, too, but after the try outs I had to wait for my parents to pick me up. And guess what! Go ahead, guess! Oh, I'm sure you have already, and you're probably right. They didn't pick me up. I waited at the school for 2 and a half hours, and when they didn't show up, I had to convinced the janitor to let me sweep the floors of the school in exchange for enough money to pay for the bus ride home.
And while I agree that everything that I've told you about was pretty bad, I think that this next part is the worst part of all. When I got home, my so-called 'family' was sitting at the table, eating dinner like nothing had even happened. I walked into the dining room, disgruntled and dirty from the practice, the cleaning, and the bus ride which, did I mention that there was this really creepy old guy sitting next to me in green robes that kept on staring at me, and offered me this weird candy that I swore could move. I WAS MOLESTED! Who knows what was in that guy's candy! If I hadn't kept my head in the situation, I could have been taken to God knows where for God knows what by a creepy and probably crazy elderly man!
So, anyway, I was in the dining room, and they just stared. They looked from me, to my usual chair at the table, to me again. My dad started to laugh. Ha Ha Ha Ha, Elizabeth, Ha Ha, we didn't even notice you were gone, Ha Ha Ha, He chortled out. So I screamed at him that it wasn't funny, which made my mother and sister start to laugh as well. I got really red in the face and embarrassed, like it was because of my own foolishness that they left me to fend for myself. I practically screamed at them everything that had happened, and went on about sweeping the floors while the janitor sang these horrible out-of-key sea shanties, and do you know what they did? They continued to laugh, and said that stuff like that 'built character,' or something.
"Well, clearly," I growled in that kinda horse voice you get when you're trying really hard not to cry in front of people you hate, " Harley doesn't have any character, because you love her to much for her to build it. Or is character just a byproduct of neglect?". I ran into my room then, and expected them to come rushing up after me, telling me that they did love me, and that I needed to come down and eat dinner, and that they were sorry for leaving me . But they never came, and the next morning, I came down stairs and it was like nothing had even happened.
But, back to The Day My Life Fell Apart. I got out of bed, which was of course pink, and put on my favorite outfit. (Jeans, and a red T-Shirt that had Captain America on it. My dad is very politically active, and according to him, all of London's problems come from America. I wear it just to grind his gears. It tends to work. ) I walked down the stairs, past picture upon picture of Harley doing this, Harley winning that, Harley at the award ceremony for the award I had won for getting top marks in all my classes, (I wasn't in that picture. Or in any of them.) and into the kitchen.
There, my mum was baking breakfast, and was humming some kind of horrible pop song about break ups and make ups. Her dangerously tight, short, and shiny plastic dress squeaked and folded whenever she moved in a way that had to be uncomfortable. Her bright red lipstick perfectly matched her red finger nails and red dangling earrings.
It was Saturday, and I knew she didn't plan on going out all day, but she still dressed up like she was about to be filmed and wore high heels. I think she might be seeing the milkman, but I don't really care, because we get extra bottles whenever he comes. I tend to steal said bottles when they're empty, because I like the way they capture light when I put them in my window. He never asks for them back; Yet another kindness that proves he and my mum are forbidden lovers.
She shimmied over to where I was sitting, making sure not to expand her chest too much as she breathed or move her hips too much as she walked, and placed an egg on my plate.
"Good Morning, Sweet Heart, how did you sleep?", she asked with that disgustingly fake 'considerate mother' smile of hers. I opened my mouth to answer, but was cut off.
"Oh, good morning Mum! If you really must know, I slept horribly!" Harley proclaimed as she walked into the kitchen, miniskirt and tank-top clad, each being varying shades of purple and pink. Just like all of her clothes. And, like most of her shirts, her boobs were hanging out, loud and proud. I swear I could see her underwear, her skirt was that short. Even though Harley was dressed up like some kind of rainbow prostitute, my mom still thought she was a direct descendant of God or an Angel or something heavenly like that. I don't know why I was surprised she wasn't talking to me. Why on Earth would she?, "Lizzy kept me up all night last night with her horrible music!" She put her face into a ridiculous and overdramatic pout. It was so saturated with melodrama, that I almost laughed. My mom cut me a murderous glare.
"Lizzy! Is this true?" She said in that way she asks things that she already knows the answer to, albeit the wrong answer. She's like one of those crappy 'Choose your own Adventure' novels. They say you get to choose, but it doesn't matter if you turn to page 16 or 27, you'll always end up on page 88, where you die or get lost or caught or something fatal like that. If I say yes, I get in trouble. If I say no, She'll think I'm lying, and I'll get in trouble. Hello, Page 88.
"If by 'Is this true?', you're asking me if I played music, then the answer is yes. If you're asking whether or not I played it loud enough to disrupt Harley, then No... Good Morning, by the way.", I said in what I hoped was a reasonable tone. The tone of a lawyer, or a teacher talking about their favorite lesson. My 'I know what I'm talking about so much, that you don't,' tone. Or, at least, that was what I was hoping to pull off. Guess what! I didn't pull it off. Thanks, Universe!
"Are you getting a tone with me, young lady?" I was really close to rolling my eyes, but I fought the urge and instead lowered them. I mumbled an apology that I hoped sounded genuine. I haven't been very good at my tones so far today, so I'n not sure how that turned out.
"Frizzy Lizzy also stole my hairbrush, and refuses to give it back. I can hardly blame her though, she really needs one." That matter-of-fact voice she uses makes me want to kill her. Her words kinda make me want to cry and punch her at the same time... I wonder if I could pull off doing both at once without looking like an idiot or getting in trouble. I don't think I could, so I compromise by just clinching my fists and willing myself not to blush.
Mum just clucked and shook her head. "Lizzy, why would you take her brush? You know it would just get stuck. I would take you to get your hair cut, but I think the barber would lose his scissors...", She stopped to think for a moment before she reached out her hand, and touched my frizzy mane, "I would get a perm, but I don't think it would work..."
I found myself staring at the glass of orange juice, avoiding eye contact. Maybe I should retreat to my room? No, I want breakfast. Can I take my eggs and run? No, that would be pathetic. Was breakfast really worth putting up with this? I could just skip the meal; My mum was always telling me not to eat as much... I was starting to get really worked up. Why would my family be treating me like this?
I felt something then, something bubbling deep inside of my stomach. Kinda like when you're suddenly in a very good mood, and you get that giddy feeling in a wave. I bit my lower lip, because it wasn't really a good feeling.
Harley came up right next to me, and put her hand on my shoulder. "Oh, Frizzy Lizzy... Are you getting upset?" She asked. I focused on the orange juice. "It's okay. I mean, if I were more like you, I would too," She patted my shoulder, looking down with fake sympathy. Orange Juice.
"Now Harley, you didn't need to say that. The truth is sometimes better left unsaid." My mum cut in. The feeling in my stomach grew in intensity.
"But mum, she needs to hear this. She'll be in secondary school soon, and it's better that she hears this from family before she hears it from the kids in the hall. It's wrong to deny the inevitable." Focus. On. The. Juice. Don't take the bait, she's trying to get you in trouble. Orange Juice. Mum sighed in agreement. The feeling in my stomach was unbearable, and my fists shook. Was I going crazy, or was the glass shaking too?
"You guys do realize that I'm standing right here!" I screamed, just as the feeling in my stomach was released, and the glass of orange juice, the windows, and the bottles of milk
shattered and blew apart into shards across the room.
