Chapter 2
Kylie
"So this will be your room. Lucky thing Luke added an addition to the house a few years back. The bathroom is right down the hall. You will be sharing it with Sawyer our daughter. Have you met her? She is a great girl. I know you guys will get along. If you need anything just ask." Peyton says with a slightly tight smile just before existing. I don't blame her, it must be a shock to find out your husband as another daughter. I know it's hard for me.
Looking around the room there is nothing special. It is your typical guest bedroom. A full size bed is placed up against the far wall. There is a desk, a dresser, and an end table. All the wood is dark and the walls are a nice shade of beige. This is nothing like my room back home.
"So kiddo, are you ready for today?" Dad asks as we sit down for breakfast. This is dad's day off which means cereal for breakfast and Taco Bell for lunch! Mom always makes us eat healthy so on dad's day off we indulge.
"What are we doing today?" I ask shoveling cereal into my mouth.
"Today we paint and decorate your room!" I almost choke at what he says. I have been begging my parents to let me paint my room for a year.
"Are you serious?" I ask gasping for air.
"Yes unless you are going to die on me. Now chop, chop kiddo! You are burning daylight!" He jokes pulling me into a hug and out the door.
"I want white walls! I want all black furniture! Also on the walls I want paint slapper of all neon colors expect for orange. Orange is a gross color! I want to have sayings and passages from different books painted all over the walls. Can I get spray paint to add some street art onto it?" I tell my dad as we jump into the car heading toward the paint store.
"Okay kid! We can do whatever you want as long as we take a picture of your mom's face when she sees your crazy room." My dad agrees.
It will be awesomely crazy!" I scream as my dream room comes together. White walls with tons of colors on them, black words and different pictures that cover the walls. White tile floors, black desk, black doors that lead to my closet. My bed spreads and sheets are white with paint splatter. It is a crazy, hot, mess. Yet it is totally me!
We walk into Home Depot first and pick out the titles, lamps, and paint colors. All the employees look at me a bit weird. I guess it's a bit weird not to be in school on a Friday but it's a tradition. My dad also buys a lot of wood for a surprise.
It takes us hours to rip up the old carpet and lay down all the large stark white titles. I underestimated the time it would take to finish my room but my mom is gone for the weekend supervising the launch of another book tour.
Dad and I work around the clock. With the walls almost finished. As I start on throwing paint onto the walls, I see a flash of my dad and then paint. Hot pink paint in my hair.
"Oh! It's so on!" I declare. Grabbing a glob of yellow paint and fling it at him. He jumps just in the nick of time while trying to cover me in green paint. We go back and forth for who knows how long. When we are completely out of breath and more importantly out of paint, we call a truce. Look around I see someone all my wall are also covered paint; just like I wanted it.
"I match my walls!" I smile at my dad who only nods in agreement.
"Come on kid lets get the furniture for this room while it all dries." My dad states as he Glenn,y takes my hand and we walk out the door.
Between Sleep Train mattress store, Pier One imports, and random garage sales that we stopped at I everything that screams me. Every piece is midnight black. My favorite thing is my new bed frame. It is an amazing black rot iron frame. It has weird carvings on the posts and scratches on the back of it. We picked it up at our last garage sale for thirty bucks. It's so different.
All too soon we get home. I go back to start painting the words on my walls and dad disappears to go make my surprise.
I start with a my favorite quote right smack in the middle of the far left wall. It reads " Someone once told me not to bite off more then I can chew. I said I would rather choke on greatness than nibble on mediocrity." Off to the left I add this quote "At the end we all become stories." And just like that the wall starts to fill. I grab different books from the other room, holding them in one hand and painting them with the other.
Then I do the exact same thing with the far right wall expect I find quotes from famous people and scribble them onto the wall. I feel as if I don't write them on my walls the will surely disappear. My favorite being from Einstein "Logic will take you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere." All to soon both my walls are covered floor to ceiling with words.
Lastly I look at the wall directly across from the door and I grab the spray paint. I paint the City Skyline as if it is a kingdom. The Empire State Building standing so majestic in the center while other buildings flank it's sides. Sometimes I feel like New York is my kingdom and that knowledge feeds my soul. I add my favorite places to go in the foreground and proclaim it to be finished.
As I step back dad finally comes back in holding a large wooded thing. "Wow! Kylie this looks amazing!"
"Thanks Dad." I blush "what's that?"
Dad turns it to face time and I see it's a giant frame and inside of the frame looks like floating pictures of mom, dad, and myself. Photos from their wedding, dates they have gone on, and big milestone events in my life are all arranged as if it's a guild timeline of our family.
"I thought you could use a unique headboard." Dad nonchalantly says.
"It's perfect." I whisper trying to hold back my tears of joy as I hug my dad.
We finally get all the paint and trash out of the room and move in what suppose to be there right before mom gets back.
"I'm home." Mom hollers.
"We're in Kylie's room!" Dad answers.
Slowly mom makes her way from the entry way up to the second story where my room is.
"Kylie," my mom gasps. "This is different."
My dad and I laugh. Yeah it's different alright. Mom comes into the room to stand on my right while dad is on my left.
"I love it." I declare. Both my parents smile and hug me. "It's perfect."
"Just like you my dear baby girl." Shaking my head at my dad. He always says things like this.
"Whatever dad."
Tears leak down my face as I remember that weekend. I would give anything to go back and tell my parents that I love them. I miss them so much it hurts. I know now that the man who raised me isn't my real dad, but he was real enough for me. He taught me how to ride my bike, how to be sarcastic, how to cook, and how to kick ass at video games. My parents are my parents. No matter who created me. I wish I could just go back to them.
Pulling myself off the bed and I begin to unpack all my things. It is more to distract myself from the tidal wave of emotions that are coursing through me. I feel if I don't do something I will fall apart. Right now falling apart isn't an option. I chose to make my new room – that doesn't feel like my room – look like a bit more like me. But even with all my stuff neatly put away and a few photos put up around the room, it doesn't feel like mine. I doubt it ever will.
"Sawyer is home." Peyton announces walking into the room "We were going to talk to her about everything that has happened. Do you want to be there?" Peyton is really nice. Too nice. I know she – like everyone else – is walking on broken glass around me.
"No thanks. I still have a lot to unpack." I lie to her and we both know I am lying me but she doesn't say anything.
"Okay." And with that she is gone like the wind. My mom never once brought up this part of her life and I never needed her to. As long as I can remember my Dad has been my dad. I never knew of a Lucas Scott or the Scott family. Now sitting here in a room that will never be mine, no matter how much I try and all I can think of is how I wished my mother would have told me something. I wished she would have told me a story about Tree Hill. At least I would have known the people; kind of. But no my mother gave me the world's most perfect life and a drunk driver took it all away. Before I knew it, I was sobbing. I am sure the whole house heard me but I just didn't care. I want my mom back. I want my dad back.I want my life back. But none of those things are coming back to me; I am stuck in a God forsaken town with my biological father that I don't even want! I want my real dad back! I want my dad the book editor who takes of random Fridays and pull me out of school just because he wanted to spend time with me! I want him back.
It takes a while for my tears to dry up but they do. My eyes get heavy and I realized just how emotionally drained I am. My eyes at some point close and I drift off into blissful, dreamless sleep.
"Hey sister?" Sawyer says awkwardly as she enters my room. I woke up maybe five minutes ago. It was just enough time for me to realize that I am actually living my nightmares.
"Hi." I respond just as awkwardly maybe even more. We both stay quiet after that. She probably already has put everything together from earlier. It makes things a bit awkward.
"I just wanted to try it out." Sawyer explains "I always wanted a sibling growing up. My mom –Peyton – almost died when she had me so they stopped trying for more kids. They didn't want to chance it." Sawyer tactfully avoids mentioning Lucas or that fact that he is my father. For that I am grateful. I don't really know how to deal with this situation.
"What about you? Did you ever want a sibling?" she asks after another long pause.
"I guess sometimes. When both my parents would work, I guess I wanted someone else to play with. But I liked having my parents to myself. I guess you can say that I never learned how to share all that well." I try to crack a joke but being funny is not my expertise. That was what Dad always did. He was the funny one.
"Umm … Kylie" Sawyer starts off.
"Yeah?" I answer tentatively.
"Can I ask you a few personal questions?" I never met anyone who asks if they can ask you questions. She is cute.
"Sure." I agree because what is the worst that could happen? I could just have a mental breakdown and be sent to the crazy house but that actually sounds nice right now.
"What were your parents' names?" Sawyer asks testing the waters, like she is in a war zone; ask the wrong question and she thinks I will explode.
"Lindsey and Marcus Jones." I somehow kept all the pain and anguish out of my words. Small victories should be celebrated.
"My dad told me your mom was really great." She begins "He said she was smart, funny, and really down to earth."
"Sawyer I can't do this right now." I snap. "I can't." I add under my breath.
Thank god she somewhat understands and she shuts her mouth and just nods.
"Do you want to be here?" Sawyer whispers. I know it's not fair to her to snap like that but it's just too hard right now. I know they are just trying to be nice and welcoming.
"Sawyer," I start, trying for once to pick my words extremely carefully. "it's not that I don't want to be here; it's just I want to be with my parents again." I figured that I owed it to Sawyer to be honest with my feelings. She has been nothing but kind to me even though her world has been turned upside down as well.
"I understand." She gently pats my knee before changing the direction of our conversation. "So what do you like to do?"
"Well I love art. I love painting, drawing, and overall just being creative. But recently my love for art has taken me to fashion designing. I love all aspects of it! Once I get an idea in my head I can't stop till it actually created. That is why in my room back home most of my clothes are made by me." I told myself I wasn't going to talk a lot but my mouth had other ideas "What about you?" I ask in hopes she talks more than I do.
"Hahaha well that depends. I love reading and writing; I am just like my dad in that way. But my mom has always had me in an art class because she loves art so while I am great at drawing and things like that I don't think I can say it is my favorite hobby. But more than anything I love running-"
"You like running?" I ask cutting her off.
"Yes it is so much fun and I can just zone out and do my own thing." Wow! I have never met anyone who has had a love for running. I certainly hate running and I don't see the appeal at all but good for her.
"I hate running. I feel like I am slowly torturing myself." I remark to Sawyer. She just sends up a laugh that sounds like angels singing. I bet she has every guy falling over her at the school she goes to.
"Well, all I can say is running is not for everyone." That makes me laugh because I don't think truer words have ever been spoken.
"Dinner's ready!" I hear Lucas call from the kitchen. I immediately tense at the thought of my first meal without my parents. The more I stay awake in this new world the more I wish it was all a hoax.
Sawyer sensing my dismay whispers to me "You don't have to eat with us. I am sure I can bring you a plate of food if you just want to hide out." That sounded glorious! Hiding from life and never resurfacing but I know my mother would scold me for years if I did that. Instead I get up and walk out to the dining room.
"Thanks. That would be nice." I tell her.
"Okay. Be right back." She hops off the bed and all the tension leaves my body.
This is the first dinner I'm having without my parents being alive. Tears fill my eyes. How can this be happening. I'm supposed to be home with my parents. It's pizza night. Mom would have stopped by the farmers market before she got home and we would all get to make our own pizza. Everything would get everywhere but that was part of the fun. How can all that just be gone?
Sawyer pops into the room enough to set a plate of food on the dresser and then disappears. I look on the plate and it's chicken. It's not supposed to be chicken. Rage that I have never felt before rushes to the surface as I launch the plate – with all the food – across the room. It hits the wall with a large crash. The plate shatters. I rush to the door and clock it so none of the other people in this house try to come to investigate. Slowly I slide down the door and cry. My crying turns into sobbing. The sobs devour my body piece by piece till it's hard to do much of anything. I can't breathe, I can't stand. Everything is just wrong. It all feels so wrong.
It's supposed to be pizza.