Always Love You: A One Direction Adoption Story

Chapter 1

Roselyn POV:

I blinked my eyes open as I heard the front door slam near me, and glanced at the microwave.

2:23 am

Stifling a groan, I quickly got up from my position on the couch and rushed to help my father stagger drunkenly into the living room. Ever since my mom left us a few years ago, he spends his nights drinking, hopping from bar to bar once the bartenders cut him off. I was surprised he'd come home at all, as he was akin to spend a night or two in jail for a drunken brawl or public intoxication.

He leaned almost too heavily on me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I led him onto the couch and headed into the kitchen. I grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water, and handed it to him, which he barely managed to drink from without spilling it on himself.

Once he was done, he promptly tossed it on the floor, thinking it must be a beer can or something. In any fashion, it shattered, and I felt pieces of glass stab my bare feet. I sucked in a breath, trying not to be a "disturbance," but it didn't help.

"Stupid girl!" my father yelled enraged. "Look at what you did!"

Knowing better than to argue, I bent over, beginning to pick up the shards with my bare hands as I knew there was no hope in trying to find a broom. But it wasn't enough for him.

*SMACK*

I felt my cheek redden and held back tears as I tried to ignore the stinging that radiated down my face.

"Clean up around here, for God's sake!" he continued, referring to his many cigarettes, beer bottles, and cans.

I only nodded, finding an empty box to use as a makeshift trash bin, and I began to pick up the various items littering the area. Both my hands and feet were cut and bleeding from the shards of glass, and I could feel my eye starting to swell from the blow I'd received. Still, I ignored it, hurrying to tidy up as much as I could, although I knew that by the time I came home from school, the place would be filthy again.

I finished the living room and the kitchen about an hour and a half later, and by then, my father had disappeared. I assumed he'd went to bed. We lived in a one bedroom apartment, as it was the only thing we could afford. He'd lost his job a couple of moths prior, but Welfare allowed us a place to live, and an income to support his various habits. Unfortunately, those were the only things my father cared about, as I knew by the stack of bills on the counter that we would soon have no electricity or water. 

This was not an uncommon occurrence, so I knew I had to be prepared. I filled a few water bottles with water to have to drink until my father wisened up, hiding several more for myself in case the alcohol negated the effects of dehydration. Heading into the bathroom, I stored a bucket of water under the sink to use to bathe. Although I knew it would be frigid in the morning, it was better than nothing.

Returning to the kitchen, I opened the fridge, unsurprised by the lack of food. If my father was hungry, he ate at the bar. Grocery shopping was not on his short list of priorities. I sighed, knowing I'd have to get something at school, and returned to my bed on the couch, hoping I could get at few hours of sleep before I had to be up for school.

But, that was not the case. As I had just wrapped my thin blanket tightly around me, my father, still incredulously drunk, staggered back into the living room, a bottle of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other. And I knew what came next.

~~~

By the time my father returned to his room, it was already time for me to start getting ready for school. I took a sharp breath and stood, heading slowly towards the bathroom. As I suspected, our lights were off, and the sink did not provide any water. Grudgingly I left the door somewhat ajar, as closing it would have forced me into total darkness.

Upon examination of myself in the mirror, I discovered that my cuts were far more extensive this time, and I used the sleeve of my shirt to wipe off the blood that hadn't yet caked on. Not wanting to waste the little water I had, I decided that I could head to the gas station a couple of blocks away and clean up in its bathroom. I let my hair flow down my shoulders and across my face to hide the black eye that was developing and the bruises on my neck.

I limped, my feet still cut, back to the living room, to the area behind the couch where my few possessions lived. I grabbed a long sleeve shirt and changed into one of my Mom's old jeans that she had left behind. It was a few sizes too big, but I managed. I threw on some old generic brand sneakers, ignoring the holes that showed where my bare toes poked through. I could already feel it start to press on my wounds, seeping blood into the soles.

I looked up from my seat on the couch as my father walked in. "Before you leave, make sure you clean up," he said, referring to freshly broken beer bottles and cigarette butts scattered around me. "And make sure you take the recycling up today - I'm gonna need those few dollars by tomorrow."

I didn't respond, just nodded, as I'd given up on talking to him a long time ago. Some of the cigarettes were still hot, and compounded the pain from all of the broken glass. About 10 minutes later, once I had picked up everything I could see, I threw my backpack on.

I grabbed the box I had filled up last night and headed out the door. The recycling center was in the complete opposite direction of my school, let alone the gas station, but I've been late to school before. Not that my father much cared.

The 5 block walk was hard, considering the bottles and cans were heavy, and I was starving and lightheaded. My hands and feet ached with shards of glass probably still in them. Not to mention, the November chill did not aid the fact that I did not own a jacket. I cursed myself for not layering on my shirts.

Once I reached the center, they gave me about $25 and some change. I decided I'd give my dad the $20 bill and pocket the rest, knowing sooner or later I would need it. The analog clock on the wall told me that I had misestimated the time, and I was already half an hour late to school. I had no way of knowing since the power was off and the microwave couldn't display the time.

Still, I decided that I might as well go to school, as my only other option was returning to my father. I took a shortcut to the gas station through Central Park, and I was glad that there weren't that many people about on such a cold day. I kept my head down and hid the chattering of my teeth when someone passed by, and my backpack caused people not to bother with a second glance.

I was busy focusing on staying awake and powering through the cold, as well as my gnawing hunger, when I bumped into a man. I fell backwards, quite harshly, on my butt, and looked up at the person before me, stunned.