AN: Hello again, my wonderful readers! Thanks for checking out World War 3. If you were one of the four people who read the first chapter, sorry this took so long. I wasn't really feeling any motivation, but guess what kept me going. REVIEWS. Well, one review. Jacobblackishawt, this chapter's for you. If anyone else wants more, review, review, review (and enjoy)!
DISCLAIMER: I own NOTHING. Y'all hear?! Nothing Twilight related. Or Obama. I don't own Obama.
They say that time flies when you're having fun. This must be why the hours always drag along on Saturdays. This Saturday seemed to be particularly nasty. The sun was shining when I awoke, but shortly after I finished breakfast, I heard the rain pounding against the walls. I didn't mind. I'm used to the rain. On the peak of Mt. Washington, New Hampshire, it's always raining, snowing, or overcast.
Breakfast was fairly uneventful. I had been right when I told my dad that my mother made me something. She had a whole feast laid out on our dining room table. It wasn't a special occasion or anything. She always keeps herself productive when she doesn't want to think about something. She always overloads herself with something else. This morning it just happened to be cooking.
"Morning, Nessie. What do you want for breakfast? We have bacon, eggs, pancakes, French toast-"
"I'll just have cereal," I answered after she attacked me. I could tell that she had been up for a while. Her eyes weren't red like mine anymore. She must have run water over them for a few hours. She also had makeup covering the bags under her eyes. Her hair was curled into loose tendrils around her face. I could tell what she was trying to do. She was trying to cover it up, to act like it never happened when we both knew very well that it did. It was the dark cloud that hung above us as we ate in silence.
"Are you going to be around today?" She asked as I laid my bowl next to the sink for her to clean. Her voice had a hint of desperateness to the edges. The truth was, I wasn't going to be home. I was going to have lunch at the diner in town with my best friend Nahuel.
Nahuel and I have been inseparable since the first day of Kindergarten. We had to color a picture of an apple. I had colored mine red.
"Apples aren't red!" He had exclaimed and pointed a small finger at my picture.
"Oh, yeah? Wanna bet?" I asked him.
"Yeah, they're green!" He argued.
"Are not!"
"Are too!"
"Liar, liar, pants on fire!"
That's when Nahuel lost it. He lunged at me and gave me a bloody nose. I gave him a black eye. The teacher gave us a time-out together and for some reason that defies all the laws of the universe, we became best friends. You see, Nahuel and I are complete opposites. I love to read. He's addicted to his Xbox. I'm quieter than a mouse. He's the most outgoing person I've ever met. I like to keep the peace. He'll do anything to get a rouse out of someone. Despite all this, we've been best friends for 11 years and somehow it just works. I think it's because he's good for me. Nahuel can make me crack up out of nowhere about something that happened last year. He finds the best in every situation, and even if there is nothing good in a situation, he'll make fun of it and laugh at it.
After what happened last night, I needed to see Nahuel to get my mind off of things or at least laugh about it. But the way my mother looked at me…it would have been criminal to leave. Her big brown eyes, the same eyes as mine, looked at me with a way of longing that I just couldn't refuse. I knew I couldn't leave her alone in the same house as my dad. As far as I know, they haven't been alone in the same house since before I was born. Sometimes, I wonder how I was born. I mean, they must have been happy sometime. Did they ever love each other? How did they get married? What in the world happened that made their marriage fall apart? If they hate each other so damn much, why don't they just get a divorce?
I asked my mother that one time a few years ago. My dad had been gone for over a month, and I guess I wasn't thinking straight. I simply thought it would be easier to live in different houses.
"I can't leave," she told me curtly. And that was all. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get any more out of her. I can't leave. Why not, Mom? Could you please explain this to me, because I don't understand at all.
I also don't understand why my dad comes back every time he goes away. It's not like my mom's waiting for him at the door with a turkey on the table and pumpkin pie for dessert. She normally doesn't even acknowledge the fact that he's home until they fight.
My dad's not stupid, either. He went to college for eight years. He's a cardiologist, which means he's either at work or working at home a lot. I think he uses this to his advantage. When he comes home every night, he grabs something from the fridge, talks to me for a few minutes, and then disappears into his "lair" as Nahuel calls it. Nahuel has this insane notion that my dad's a vampire because he only comes out at night to argue with my mom. I'm fairly certain that my dad's not a vampire.
"Nessie? You still with me?" My mother asked me. I guessed I must have spaced off. My bad.
"Yeah, I'll be home today," I told her. Her eyes lit up with excitement.
"Great! You can help me make lunch, and then we can make cookies, and some brownies! Would you like that? I've been in the mood for some brownies lately. Then we can make this new lasagna recipe that I've been wanting to try forever for dinner…is your dad going to be home today?"
It's amazing how her mood can go from sky high to all-time low with just a single thought of my dad. I shrugged honestly. I never know where he is. When he goes away, sometimes I don't know he's truly gone until a day passes and he isn't there to take his "daily dose" in the morning. I would say that I wish he was always home, but I don't. There would be only more fighting and more awkwardness. I absolutely hate to admit it, but I like it better when he's gone.
"Can you ask him? I don't want him getting in the way," she said. I sighed in reply. It's pathetic how they can't even talk to each other unless they're yelling. I stood up and made my way up the stairs.
When I reached my dad's room, to my surprise, he was standing in front of the mirror tying his tie I bought him last Christmas. My heart fell a little when I saw him in nice clothes, obviously not staying-at-home attire. So he was leaving again. Who knew for how long? I wanted to rip the stupid tie out of his hands and command him to stay. I want him to stay long enough to fix the damage of the last seventeen years, but that would probably take another seventeen.
I lightly tapped on the doorway. He swiftly turned around and froze when he saw me. He knows I don't like it when he goes away.
"Where are you going?" I asked. He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came out.
Silence.
"Are you going to be gone long?" I asked after a few moments of mouth gaping and awkwardly waiting. He let out a large, overdramatic sigh.
"Ness, listen to me," he said as he sauntered over to me. Now it was my turn to sigh. When he reached me, he put his hands on my shoulders and led me gently to the bed. "I love you. I love being around you and spending as much time with you as possible. Whenever we're together, we have fun, right?"
"Whenever we're together…" I muttered. He sighed once more, just like I do when I'm frustrated.
"This thing…it's complicated. I don't expect you to understand now. You'll understand when you're older-"
"Why do you always say that? You'll understand when you're older, you'll understand when you're older, well I am older and I still don't understand why I can't sleep through a single night because you're either telling me goodbye or mom's crying herself to sleep!" I shouted as I stood up.
"Renesmee, wait," he followed after me, but you know what I did? I slammed the door in his face. See how much that hurts, Dad. See how much you hurt me every day.
About ten minutes later, he left for the land of the unknown and I was stuck with my mother for the day. After an hour of baking cookies with her, I was so fed up that I retreated to my room for the rest of the day. I love the woman, but when she's bothered by something, she talks and talks about everything but the issue. A lot of times, it's too much for me to handle, and that's when I remove myself from the situation. I went up to my room and read Wuthering Heights for the thousandth time. And that's pretty much where the story leaves me now. I'm standing in front of my bathroom mirror, dabbing my brown eyes with a tissue. I cried again. I cry every time I read it. I cry far too much.
I glance at the clock, which reads 5:46. It's almost time for dinner. If it's a normal Saturday night, my dad will be back in a few hours and then…I don't want to think about what normally comes next. I really hope he doesn't come back. Dad, please don't come back.
"Nessie, dinner's ready!" My mother calls from downstairs. When I see her smiling face at the bottom of the steps, I decide that I'm staying optimistic. Nothing is going to happen tonight. He's going to stay away for the night, and we're going to be just fine.
Too bad I'm an eternal pessimist.
Walking into the dining room, I can feel the tension dripping down the walls. There's something about the light that hits the two white plates set out on the table that hurts my eyes. The air feels heavy as I slowly take it in and out…
"Nessie!" My mother calls from the doorway. My head snaps up to her. I didn't even know my head was down. She puts down her plate of chicken and runs over to me. Oh, goodness. She looks worried. She slaps her hand on my forehead.
"Mom! What is it?" I ask.
"You look paler than a ghost! Are you okay?"
"Yes! Yes, I'm fine," I assure her. She doesn't need any more pressure than she already has. She's probably thinking the same thing I am. Dad will be home soon, and it won't be pretty. It's hard to say if he'll have been drinking, but I hope with all of my heart that he hasn't been. The fights are bad enough when he's sober.
During dinner, I can see that my mother's worried out of her mind. She rattles on and on about this birdfeeder she fixed today. I didn't even know we owned a birdfeeder. I respond with a chorus of yeahs and okays. Truth is that I'm not really listening. I'm staring at the clock behind her. I can feel my shoulders tense up by the minute. He's going to be home soon if he comes home at all.
I can't eat. I can barely pretend I'm eating. I can only stir my rice around. My mother, however, is different. I think she's had about four servings of rice already. I don't know how she fits it in with all of the talking she's doing. I couldn't even get a word in if I wanted to.
"…and I just think that Obama's not doing the best job with the health care situation-"
Click.
A wave of fear washes over me like a waterfall. My heart races fast, faster than 100 miles a minute. The air seems to stand completely still. The silence is so loud it hurts my ears. My mother's chest rises quickly up and down, up and down, and I know we're thinking the same thing.
He's home.