My other Half.

Chapter 1

Here we go again. Another school, a different story. A new "home". And a new life. Some people ask "Why don't you just stay in one place?" or "Why don't you live with your mom?" But they just can't understand. I can't have a normal life. No friends, family, and even a boyfriend. They're all off-limits. Something I can't have. I just can't be normal.

The reason I don't live with my mom is because she's already moved on. That's all I tell anybody. Nothing less and nothing more. But here's the story. She left me and my dad when I was Seven. She couldn't and wouldn't stay because dad couldn't stay sober for more than an hour. She left her child with a man who can't even take care of himself. Say's a lot about her. But after a month or so he finally decided to cut back on his drinking. It started slow at first, maybe a couple of cans a day, to one or one and a half a day.

He raised me on a graveyard pay for about two years. I never had the nice stuff, also known as the cool trendy stuff, no I had thrift store clothes. But I like thrift store clothes. I don't like being like the trendy cool kids. Because they don't have personality. They're all like machine made dolls. All the same. Without any quirks and flaws.

Me and dad also hardly had anything to eat. A loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter a week. We always pretended we were eating at a 5 star restaurant. Pretending that the bread is soft an

d fluffy. And that the peanut butter is a special sauce made from scratch. We actually tended to pretend a lot. We would pretend the laundry baskets are race cars, or simply pretend that the floor was lava.

It does get hard from time to time. Hearing dad cry at night or seeing him go through the pictures of him and mom when they were younger. It hurts to see him like that. And sometimes I think it was my fault. Sometimes I'm not so sure.

We're always moving to all these different places, because he's trying to find a better job. Trying to forget, and always trying to make life better for me. If he only knew that I'm doing fine. He should be working on improving his life. He tries and tries so hard. He's always saying, "A better job, equals, more money and more money means a better life. For us. For you"

This time he scored a job in a trucking company. He's going to be gone all the time, though. But I told him not to worry about me. He gets paid a whole letter better in this job than he did at his last one. Which was an all night convenience store job. But in his new job he has more hours and he gets paid better. He told me there's the possibility that he can get the manager spot. Which would be very good for the both of us.

"Dad, don't worry. I'm Seventeen. I can take care of myself." I said, while pushing him towards the door.

"Are you sure Willow? Do you want me to stay and be home when you get back from your first day of school?" He asked. Worry is plastered all on his face. I hate it when he worries about me.

"It's okay. It's not like this is the first time I've had a first day at school by myself. And please don't worry about me. I can take care of myself for a week."

"Okay but don't go out much. And make sure you lock the doors. OH, and if you need help putting your bike bags on just ask the next door neighbors. It's the Huntsmen. They are a very nice couple."

Me and my dad have been saving up for a motorcycle for me. I worked every possible minute I could so I could get it. It's a sports bike. A nice shiny glossy black. I put a skull sticker on the front of it. Right above the tire.

"Okay I love you, Willow. I'll see you in a couple of days." He kisses the top of my head and leaves. I watch him pull out of the driveway in his red banged up truck. He's had the old rusty thing for years. I slump my shoulders and sigh. Mentally preparing myself for the day.

I walk through the house turning off all the lights, and double checking the windows to make sure they're all locked. I grab my backpack and phone, while slugging my hoodie over my arm. I walk out onto the porch locking the door behind me.

I look up at the sky and it's grey with angry rolling clouds. Now some people might say it's going to be a ugly day. But to be honest I think it's beautiful out today. I go over and grab my bike bags off the porch swing and jump down the steps to my bike. I put the bags on with ease having no struggle whatsoever. I shiver and laugh under my breath thinking about how ironic it is. Because I live in one of the hottest places, but I'm still cold.

I live in California now, but we moved dead smack in the winter. It doesn't get as cold here in the winter than it does up North. But it's still cold. It might be scorching hot in the summer. But when it gets cold the air goes stale and the waves get choppy and cold. I'm just lucky that it doesn't freeze here. But the roads on the coast are still dangerous. With all the water splashing onto the roads.

We moved to a busy town right on the coast. It's a busy town. But with it being on the coast it's going to be hot in the summer. And I don't like hot weather, I prefer and love snow and rainy days. Or simply cloudy days. And when we move to hot and sunny places I tend to not go out much. Because on hot and sunny days I sunburn. And it hurts. And well on sunny days it just gets hot and muggy and I don't care for that type of weather. I guess that's why I'm paler than a sheet of paper.

I'm about five foot six inches, with long wavy dark brown hair. In the sun it has a red tint to it. My hair goes to about the middle of my back. My eyes are pale jade green with hints of blue in them. My eyes tend to change colors. Dad says that when I'm angry they turn grey. And that sometimes they turn a darker shade of jade green. I have a curvy shape and a strong jawline. And I always have a faint blush across my nose and cheeks. I have velvet red full lips. And a facial expression that always looks brooding and bored. I've been told that the way my resting face scares people off. The person who told me said it as if it were a bad thing. But I'm glad that I have that type of resting face. Because then people don't bother me as much. But I got lucky in the looks department. I'm pretty but far from gorgeous. Even my dad says I'm beautiful. He says I'm pure, and prettier than all the girls. It took me years to know that he wasn't just saying that because he was my dad.

I put my school bag on my back, and swung my leg over the seat of my bike. I start it up and relish in the familiar sound of its soft rumbling. It calms me. I ride along the path that takes me to the highway, but I stop. I reach behind me opening my new bike bags to grab my helmet. Dad would kill me if I drive without it. I put it on and gun it to the highway, taking a right that'll lead me to my new school.

The wind is blowing hard, whipping my hair all around my shoulder. The air feels crisp and cool in my nose and lungs. It smells salty and like the sea. It's one of the best smells you can smell in the morning. It's like a bitter sweet fragrance to me. But even if it smells good. I still don't like living near the ocean, because it reminds me of that day and year my mom struggled with the truth. We lived right on the coast of the ocean when it happened.