CHAPTER 3: And So It Goes


My eyelids felt like the size of Alaska and I had a headache that felt like nails being pounded into my frontal lobe. I didn't want to wake up but my throat was parched and I needed to pee. Isn't that the oddest feeling: being really thirsty and having to pee? Which do you do first? Drink or bathroom? I rolled over and decided—bathroom it was.

Moving around allowed my fuzzy mind to catch-up on what had happened last night. I washed my hands and dashed back to my room and looked at the clock.

11:15am.

No! I had missed my AP Lit class! And half the day of school already. I must have forgotten to set my alarm or maybe I slept through it—

Oh. Right.

I tiptoed into the living room and saw my father still reclined, sleeping, in his favorite chair. A little drool fell around his mouth and he let out a long snore, twitching his nose. I found it easier to think rationally in the morning, when my mind wasn't be bombarded by tiredness and vitriol.

Looking at the much smaller man in the light of day, I repeated internally that I didn't hold last night, or any of the preceding times, against him.

I knew that he struggled to keep a job and provide a steady income. Before I had moved in with him, when I'd lived full-time with my mom and only visited him every other weekend pursuant to their divorce agreement, he had been fine. Which means that in a way, it was my fault that he drank his problems (aka: me) away.

I compensated for being a burden by doing the household chores, paying the bills, and staying out of the way. I think this is where my power of invisibility originated from, the need to be unseen in my own house.

I have to admit though—him coming home drunk was getting more common. We didn't have a lot of money and I think he worried about making ends meet. The money situation was worse when I was younger, but he hadn't drank as much then. It use to only happen once every six weeks or so, a manageable amount.

Now he was coming home early and wasted out of his mind practically once a week. It scared me to think of him driving such a long distance intoxicated. I had tried to talk about it with him before but that only ended in him denying everything and accusing me of "being on his ass" when he was only "trying to relax." Then he'd spat at me to "shut the fuck up."

He never remembered what he said when he woke up, or he acted like he didn't. He always reverted back into the man who had struggled to be a decent father to me.

Really, Pat did the best he could and I knew that. I also knew that I wasn't the best daughter a father could want; plain in personality, looks, and interests. How could I really blame him for thinking lowly of me when everyone, including myself, thought the same?

I decided not to wake him up and find out why he had returned two days early. I sent up a small prayer that this didn't mean he had lost his third job in two years. We really needed this. But, just in case, I would go through the bills again and see where we could make reductions. Three meals a day was a bit overdone anyway, right? And running the heat when we had plenty of blankets was wasteful.

I knew I should probably go finish the day of school but I felt drained and listless still and didn't feel up to putting a fake smile on my face. Maybe I would go running instead—but one look out the window informed me that it would be more like swimming. Good, old La Push. You can count on the weather to never change, that's for sure. We probably got one day of sun a month, max. Or it felt like that, at least. The good thing about the weather was that it matched my mood nine times out of ten.

Still, I changed into running clothes just in case. Well, I would probably be walking more than running or jogging, but thinking of exercise perked me up. Heaven knows why.

So, in leggings and a baggy t-shirt with Billy Joel's face on it, I finished the bills and made a list of where we could cut our spending.

Heat, house repair, and our grocery bill. I vowed to spend ten dollars less a week on food by buying generic brands instead of my preference of the name-brands. I could cut forty dollars off the heat bill if I turned it off during the day and only heated the house for an hour or two when I was home. I had a decent stock of winter coats and pants, as well as wool blankets; I would be fine.

The house definitely needed to be fixed up before the first snowstorm and I had planned on calling a repairman—but who says I couldn't do it? If I got a instructional book or video from the library, or maybe looked it up youtube, I think I might be able to orchestrate a fix. It sounded like a solid plan to me. I felt better.

"Kim?" My father's voice croaked and I turned, startled. He was standing in the kitchen doorway, rubbing his eyes. I pasted on my best smile.

"Morning, Dad," I said, already standing up to retrieve an unasked for glass of water.

I handed the glass to him and he took a seat. He didn't thank me but surveyed the table with a tired gaze, noticing the papers on the table. "How are the bills going?"

I took my seat again and lied. "Fine. I've gotten this month taken care of and we aren't behind. How was work?" I quietly inquired, desperately trying to sound casual and not prying. I needed to know if he still had the job in Seattle.

"Work was work," he groused, handing me the cup so I would get him a re-fill. This ungrateful, expected subservience bothered me the most about Pat. I wouldn't mind if he would only thank me once in a while or make the request vocally. He never did. I suppose I perpetuated the attitude by not protesting, so I guess I can't complain.

"You're home early," I observed softly, not looking at him.

He closed his eyes and leaned on an open palm. "Dan," that was his boss, "told me to go home since we finished the Bradley Project ahead of schedule."

I felt relieved. He hadn't lost his job. "That's great!" I exclaimed with a genuine smile now.

Something seemed to occur to him and he glanced at the clock on the wall. "Why aren't you in school?"

"I wasn't feeling well this morning," I lied, again. Lying wasn't my favorite thing to do yet I saw it as necessary to live a somewhat peaceful life. The path of least resistance.

Appeased by my explanation, he returned to his previous position. "Take some Advil," he advised.

"I will," I agreed. "Would you like anything to eat?"

"Eh no," he sounded like the thought of food made him want to vomit. A vicious part of me wanted him to suffer and feel horrendous, so I didn't offer him coffee or anything that I heard could be constituted as a hangover cure.

The silence started to stretch. There was nothing left to talk about. I stood and walked to my bedroom, my stomach twisting in his presence.

I saw my cell phone, which made me think of how much we could save if I wheedled down my phone usage or maybe got rid of the device altogether. Did I really have anyone to talk to anyway?

My phone was flashing, indicating a text message was awaiting. I flipped it open.

Where r u? Becky had sent at 9:53am.

Skipper, Hani, another friend, wrote at 11:12am.

And then from Beck again at 11:35am, which was during lunch: OMFG! Cant believe u missd this. JT is back and…HOTDAMN!

KIMBERLY! another text from Beck right after, and then: ANSWER!

My heart sped up. I immediately replied: What happened?

She was still at lunch, and answered instantly.

U should b here. Jared has changed! Everyone in school is surprised. SO HOT!

He was hot b4.

But now…he grew like two feet and is SO muscly yummm

What?!

I kno. So weird.

I wasn't sure what was going on but was insanely curious. I sent: ?

Jared isn't speaking to anyone except...GUESS!

omg tell me!

PAUL.

Wtf?

Idk. Its bizarre i feel like alice in wunderland.

lol shut up and tell me more!

which one? lmao jk. btw y arent u here?

Sick.

u were fine yesterday. i serously cant believe ur missing dis.

omg!

Bell ringin. ttyl.

ok im just gonna go die.

lolz drama queen bee.

The brief conversation left me confused and dying of curiosity. Jared wasn't talking to anyone? He had grown substantially in two weeks? How the hell does that happen? Becky must be exaggerating. Or maybe he had taken to doing drugs—but no, Jared wasn't like that.

But then, how would I know what Jared was like? I attempted to learn as much as possible about the guy but there is a finite amount to be learned when you don't get it from the original source. For example, I knew he wasn't a morning person and that he had a long scar on the back of his neck from playing basketball. Yet that only prompted more questions. Did that mean he was a night owl? Or that he was simply lackluster during school? And, was that the only scar he had?

My feelings toward him left me conflicted. I didn't think I was in love with Jared simply because I didn't know enough about him. But my crush was intense and I had always felt a magnetic pull toward him that he apparently did not feel in return. It was difficult; fighting the urge each day to talk to him, or saddle closer and simply stare.

He had a roguish and handsome face, not conventionally cute, that I privately thought was way more attractive than having symmetrical or perfect features. His nose was a little too big for his face, and he had a wide mouth that produced booming laughs. He wasn't that tall, and had longer hair than he did when we first met and piercing eyes. That was a simple description of him though. It didn't include his graceful movements or the way his eyes would light up when someone told a funny joke. There were so many little things that I just lov—liked about him.

Now I was regretting not being in school today. My body was literally thrumming with excess energy that buzzed at me to get my ass to school so I could see my crush. It had been two weeks too long.

The time indicated that going to school now would be moot. It was almost over.

I resigned myself to the rest of the day of wondering and speculation until I could make my own judgment call when I saw him tomorrow.

For the second day in a row, it would be a long night.