Bliss in all its Purity

TWO

I opened my eyes, and saw total darkness. I sat up in bed, feeling stiff, and looked at my phone. It was 3:47 AM. God, what made me get up this early? Then I remembered. James.

Smiling to myself, I flopped back down onto my bed. I was wide awake. I ended up rolling out of bed, stretching, and then lying back down again. I couldn't decide whether or not to actually get up.

I reached for my bedside table, shoving aside all my volleyball ribbons and trophies, and picked up my book. I had played volleyball all through middle school, when I lived in a different town, and surprisingly enough, I was pretty good. People had always known me as quiet and artistic, not competitive. Man, did I prove them wrong.

In high school, I gave all of that up so I could focus on my grades and my grades only. The C I had in Math popped into my head, torturing me, and I groaned. That class has always been my worst nightmare, even though I kinda just started school two weeks ago.

I turned on my lamp, and opened up my book, "The Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allen Poe." I always read it when I needed to get my mind off something. Poe interested me. Why was he the way he was? Did he actually love writing, or did he just do it to get his mind off of his grief? How did he feel when he lost his wife?

I turned to page 26, a page that was really worn out. "Annabel Lee," read the title. This was my favorite poem in the history of poems. I felt a wave of empathy every time I read it. It's like I knew how Poe felt, even though I've never experienced anything like it. I've never even been in anything close to a romantic relationship before.

I started reading.

It was many and many a year ago

In a kingdom by the sea-

Suddenly, my bedroom door opened, and in came my dad. He scared me. It was just me and him, since my mom kind of had a mid-life crisis and disappeared. Half of the time he was drunk... like he was now.

"Damn, it's not even four in the morning yet," he said, waving his silver flask around.

I threw my book to the edge of my bed and stared at him.

"You need to go back to your room," I told him. "You're drunk."

He stared right back at me, and then came over. He sat on the edge of the bed, tossing the book against the opposite wall. "Birdie, why do you read that shit?"

I could feel my face flushing. No one had any idea how much my dad pissed me off. He was mostly the reason why my mom wasn't here. She'd been gone for half a year.

"Dad, just... just get out."

He was looking at the wall. I could just see his anger building up.

"Please," I added, so he wouldn't kill me.

My dad then got up, stretching. I watched him walk over to the door, smile at me, and then slam it shut as he walked out.

. . .

English was torture. James never showed up. And guess what? There was a no show in Math too, the last class I had with him. All the other girls were as let down as I was. God, I felt stupid.

It was just the same the day after that. And the day after that. Two weeks passed. No James.

By the end of September, it was obvious he was never going to come back. My grades had started to slip pretty badly the first week after he didn't show. After that though, they skyrocketed. I was so focused on my work because I couldn't afford to think about him.

It hadn't bothered me at all for a little bit, but around the beginning of October, when I entered my house, I broke on the inside. I walked to my room, picked up the biggest pillow I had, and hurled it at my small TV. It banged against the wall, but didn't quite fall off of my dresser. I threw myself onto my bed, buried my head in the covers, and cried.

Why would some miracle like himself show up one day, and then just... leave?

Just then the door to the house opened. I ran to my TV, fixed it, and threw the pillow back on my bed. I used my hoodie to wipe the tears off my face, and then walked into the hallway. My dad was on the other end.

"There... was... extra boxes to load into the food truck," he said, his words slurring together. I could smell a strong scent coming from him. Perfume. He looked like a mess.

I backed up slowly to my room. He started walking towards me. I then turned and sprinted to my window, hurriedly unlocking it with shaking hands.

"Where you goin' Birdie?"

He was yelling now. He was coming closer.

It took all my strength, but I pushed up the old window, and hurled myself out just as my dad appeared at my doorway. I sprinted to the woods and hid behind a tree, panting. I closed my eyes and waited.

I don't know why I freaked out, but I did. Sometimes he did things that triggered the raw fear deep down inside of me. It could make sense, and sometimes it wouldn't make any. It just happened.