Daughter of Luka (LGBT+)

One 🌑

My eyes gazed out of the window, into the depth of the evergreen trees behind my house. I wasn't sure what exactly it was about them, but I always felt myself being drawn to them. I supposed that it came with the mystery of the unknown. People told stories about what happened in forests and hidden caves and anywhere else vaguely dark and silent. I continued to look between the juniper-green trees for something, though I wasn't exactly sure what. I had only lived here several months, but I had been interested in the forests seemingly ever since I had arrived. My father was the one who I had chosen to live with, not that I had much of a choice after my mother died.

 My father and mother had separated several years ago, and it was around that point that she had decided to move in with Paul. Paul. I couldn't stand him, which was incredibly unfortunate, as I tended to get along with most people. Nevertheless, I told my mother that I was going to live with dad and that was that. We kept in contact for a while, but eventually fell out of touch and then mum fell into a hospital coma which she never got out of. 

"Ophelia," my father spoke my name and I turned to find him in the doorway of my yellow-coloured bedroom. I had painted it myself. When I had first arrived, it had been black, but I was not a goth nor a fan of dark shades, so I decided to repaint it myself. That was not an easy task, might I add. I don't think you truly understand how long it takes to paint over black until you try for yourself. It's as though the paint just doesn't want to be gotten rid of. At all. Nonetheless, I digress. My father had his disapproving expression on his face again, probably because he thought people commit homicide in the forest, or something. He had never wanted me to explore it, but as much as I respected my father, I simply couldn't believe that his concerns were for good reason. After all, I was eighteen and I liked to think that I could take care of myself. 

"You've been on my mind, girl, since the flood," I sang quietly. 

My father gave me an expression of amusement in response. 

"You know, your mother was the one who chose your name- you can't blame me for that one," he said. 

I shrugged. 

"It's not as if I can blame mum," I replied simply. 

My father flinched at that comment. I instantly felt guilty. I couldn't help it- dry humour was my coping mechanism, or I supposed I should say dark humour. You never realise truly how capable you are of it, until you find true darkness in your own life. 

"Sorry," I said quickly. "School?" I asked, as I picked up my backpack.

He responded with a nod. 

School. I liked school. Well, let me clarify that statement a little. I had liked it before we had exams and even more exams piled onto us. Now, in my final year, I couldn't say the same. 

"I could walk, you know," I said, pulling the strap of the backpack over one of my shoulders and only one. We all know only true geeks are the one that wear their backpack over two shoulders, or so I've been told. That fact always seemed stupid to me. After all, wasn't that the intended purpose of the backpack? Otherwise, shouldn't it be called a shoulder-pack? 

My father eyed me quizzically. 

Deciding to rebel against other people's stupid ideas, I pulled the other strap over my shoulder. I had never felt as though I would truly blend in at school, all thanks to being the new girl. Why start now? 

"I'm not having you walk," he said. 

"I promise I won't trip over a branch and die..." I trailed off. 

Still no, I am told by my father's exceptionally serious facial expression. 

"I promise I won't trip over the edge of the pavement and die?" I asked. 

He shook his head. 

Well, this wasn't going to work out. 

Oh well, I thought to myself, as I followed my father out to the car. At least my legs wouldn't ache before maths, which caused my brain to ache. I decided just one achy body part was better than two, so I slid into the passenger's side of the car. Once seated, I decided to play some cooking game on my phone, while my father pulled out of the driveway. 

Some asshole slammed on his brakes in front of us, as my father drove on, and suddenly all of my in game virtual cupcakes were ruined. 

It wasn't the worst thing that could have happened, though. They could have been real cupcakes. 

I thanked the stars that they weren't and shut off my phone. 

My father looked at me expectantly. 

"Well, we're here, kid," he said. 

"Can we not be here?" I asked. 

We weren't right near the school. I didn't like the other kids to see that I had to get a lift with my father. I hadn't passed my driving test yet. I didn't plan on it. My wages at the local supermarket were not going to pay for driving lessons any time soon, so it was a waiting game. 

"You'll be fine," he said to me, with a smile. 

I would be fine, I thought decisively. I would also be late, I considered, as I looked at the clock on the dashboard. 

"Got to run, dad. Love you," I said and quickly pressed a kiss upon his cheek, before I jumped out of the car. 

Well, not literally. I didn't have that much energy this morning. I hadn't had my usual caramel latte. My stomach grumbled at such a disturbing thought. How was I going to endure maths with no caffeine? 

I was going to have to try my very hardest, I thought, as I heard my dad drive off. 

It was time to go to my first class, so I headed in that direction.