NOTE: This is written in first-person as Elina's point of view. I saw a review of someone asking for another POV chapter, so I decided to give it a shot!

My father wasn't the same after mamma died, in fact things just got worse for him as time went on. He walked around looking like a million miles of bad road—he shaved less, didn't bathe as much, and always smelt like he had downed three bottles of liquor. I looked outside the window one day to remember what life was like before my mamma died; as the months passed, crops sure had grown, but it was also our last farmer's market. We made a lot of money, but it still did nothing to raise my father's spirits.

By the time I was fifteen going on sixteen, my father and I were the only people left in the house—Christopher married Leanne, Toby was in college, and Jules joined the Army at only eighteen. Suzy had found a job as a cashier at the convenience store and made enough money to move out; I didn't quite know how she'd make it. She had no legs. I didn't even know how she did her job. I stopped in one day to see her during her shift; she was held up by a metal stool with a back on it, and she never worked alone.

"My boss wants me to work with someone," Suzy had told me after ringing up a customer.

"What if they're at the bathroom or on break?" I asked.

"My shifts are short. Only five hours," she answered, looking up at me with those dark eyes of hers. "They only get a break when I leave. They work double the hours than me. I'm lucky, 'cause I just get to stay here on my stool ringing up items."

Something in me had also changed—I was more outgoing. I hung out with Lily more often, and we were more daring in our "adventures", as we often hung out as night. My father didn't seem to give two shits about where I went; it wasn't like him, you see. He always babied me, but in a way, I kinda missed that part of him. However, there were times when he was sober when he would ask where I was going—the moment mentioned Lily, he went about his business. He didn't even seem to notice the changes in my appearance I had begun to adopt; I started to wear pants, I dyed my hair, and began to wear makeup. I also started smoking cigarettes. I don't think I would consider myself looking like a streetwalker, but I didn't look like the prude my mamma was trying to create.

So I dyed my hair with the help of Lily and her hairdresser in town—it wasn't a drastic change, but I had my hair cut and permed to make it more voluminous, and the color looked more like a normal blonde color. I began tohate my snow-white, ghostly-looking hair color. I was born with it, and it was just too much to look at anymore. On top of that, my hair was naturally wavy, so this new style really stood out—I felt like one of the cool kids. We had gone shopping that day, too—I didn't have to pay a cent. Lily's mama was so generous, and I got a lot of stuff that truly expressed my inner self. I was actually fifteen at the time of this makeover, and it was the summer before sophomore year of high school.

Yet with all the hype of my social life, I felt lonely—sure, I had Lily and some other school acquaintances, but being the only one in my house besides my dad was quite a sad experience. My brothers had all up and left; Bette and Dot moved in with Mr. Loring and lived in the lap of luxury; Suzy had saved up money to move out. We were all alone. My father was also unpredictable; his moods would change every day, but he never raised a hand to me, never treated me like the scum of the earth, and I know it was the drink that made him do it. In fact, I felt kinda bad for him—losing my mother had pushed him over the edge.

I had only found out he had a drinking problem when I was fourteen, and once I saw him drinking in front of me, I tried to talk him out of it.

"Dad," I said. "Are you feeling ok?" I took a seat next to him, and he just looked down into his drink, smoke emanating from his cigarette. A layer of thick stubble had grown on his face; he was very unsightly.

"Talk to me," I whispered.

"How was your day?" he asked. He really seemed out of it.

"It was fine. How was yours?" I questioned.

"Same old…same old," he slurred, taking another sip of whiskey. However, before he could take the sip down his gullet, I stopped him using just my mind. He grunted and slurred nonsense as he realized I had controlled his arm via telekinesis to put the drink back on the table. When he did, he glared at me.

"Stop it," he said.

"No, you stop it. You're going to pass out again," I said.

"Let me," he said, glancing over at me without actually making eye contact.

"Dad, you're clearly drunk," I said as I shook my head.

"Get out," he said, shaking his head absent-mindedly. "Get out."

"Fine."

I remember sneaking into his room in the middle of the night to use my power on him; the aim was to try and heal his liver, heart, and mind so that he could get out of his drunk, blacked-out stupor sooner than usual. I did this quite often, and he didn't even know I was there helping him. I had projected white healing light into his body, but after a while I stopped because he would wake up as if nothing happened only to start drinking again. Meanwhile, the farm that was once green, flourishing and fertile was now a barren wasteland; the earth had become a victim of neglect. I, too, was a victim of neglect; emotional neglect.

I was fifteen, though, so I don't think it was neglect in the same way as a young child being deprived of food or water by an irresponsible parent. Yes, my father was irresponsible when he was drunk, but he was not abusive—he just hadn't paid me the same affection as it was when I was a child or as it was from when before my mamma died. It felt like he wasn't really my father anymore, but more like a roommate or just a lazy vagrant in my house. I mentioned the farm before—my father didn't even get up off his ass and do work like he always did. He just let the five acres of beautiful farmland we owned turn to dust—in autumn, I had seen crows pecking at the soil with the hopes of finding their own share of our yearly output. What a shame.

In spring 1982, my father was ripshit to realize that our farm and home were to be foreclosed. I was sitting right there in the real estate office next to him, and the realtor, an older woman, watched him have a conniption—I could tell he was clearly drinking that morning, and furthermore, I was worried. Where were we supposed to go if we lost our farm and home?

"This is BULLSHIT!" he shouted. "I've owned that land for TWENTY-FIVE YEARS! TWENTY-FIVE YEARS! I made a living off that land! And you think it's ok to just SNATCH it from us just like that!?"

"Sir, I'm sorry but you haven't paid your bills in six months," the realtor revealed. My eyes widened, and my jaw dropped open; for real? How could he have forgotten to pay bills!

"Dad!" I exclaimed in shock.

"THIS AIN'T FAIR!" he shouted, continuing his fit.

His shouting and fit of rage at the realtor did nothing to fix any damage he had done—the state took our farm and land, and we had no where to go. To make matters much worse, we had to sell off my horse, Dagmar. I was so furious, crying my eyes out when my father suggested that. He was sober, and hadn't taken a drink all day when he said it, and I wanted nothing more than to off him right then and there. I loved my horse! How could he have done that?

Before she was sold off, I took a final ride on her, and I felt like I was conquering the land with the wind in my face and the sun in my hair. Every gallop, every slow trot, everytime the wind wanted to mess up my hair, I cherished it—I knew I would never get it back again; I was still mad at my father, though. He set her price as $2,000, and a nearby farmer, the father of one of Adam's friends, had purchased her for a price higher by $500. My father's excuse was something I had never heard from his mouth before.

"We need the money," he said. "We're getting out of town."

"Where?" I asked harshly, looking at him and projecting my anger into him. His answer was slow, but he took a breathy sigh.

"Jupiter."

It turned out to be small town in Florida, and apparently, my father had lived there for a good majority of his early life. It had been the home base of the freak show he performed in with my mamma, and they had met there. I hated it, probably because I wasn't used to not being on a farm, but it was just too plain. Barnwell was plain, but Jupiter was worse, at least in my opinion. I missed Lily; I missed our group of friends; I missed our farm; I missed my horse, Dagmar; I missed my church, yet I had stopped going on Sundays shortly after the loss we faced; I missed my brothers, even though Christopher refused to open his home to us because my father was a filthy drunk; I missed my mamma, and the times I could sing in Swedish and not cry without remembering her; I missed Suzy and the twins Dot and Bette, even though I know they were each well-off in their own ways—those lucky twins, living in the lap of luxury as we were becoming poorer by the minute.

I missed everything.

My new school seemed decent on the first day, but the guys in my classes…what can I say? They were pigs! Disgusting, dirty perverts! All of them stared at me, and as soon as I was welcomed as the new kid by the teacher, I heard cat-calls and whistling as I took an empty seat in the back of the classroom nearest the window. As I gazed down at the flat surface of the desk, I felt the eyes of those creeps gawk at me as if I were some freak. Then again, my parents were both freaks—I just got the short end of the stick with people staring at me. It wasn't like I was wearing anything flashy, just some straight-leg blue jeans, sneakers and a plain pink sweater that was off the shoulder and showed the white tank top underneath. The teacher approached me, and I gazed up at her. She seemed nice, on the outside.

"Welcome, Elina," she said. "We'll get your textbook and other stuff tomorrow." I nodded, and I somehow could read her thoughts before she started speaking again.

"Class," she said, looking at everyone else in the room. "I hope we can all make Miss Darling feel welcome here in not only the school, but our town."

Everyday going to school, wandering the halls to find my classes, I felt like a ghost—my hair hadn't been so platinum anymore since I dyed it, so it wasn't totally literal. Yet, it was terrible; the boys called me "snow bunny", and the girls just ignored me. On top of that, I had a father who couldn't give to shits about me. I never felt so hated in all my life.

My father had also started dating again—God only knows what disgusting things would happen when he brought a girl home for the night. Luckily, I blared my stereo and played records. Every time I heard a moan from across the hallway in our apartment, I simply turned up the radio—simple as that.