Alexis

Lei mangia

I woke up soon after. My breathing was heavy and tears were in my eyes. I had a very bad dream. A very bad dream. A dream that hurt me so much that I woke up crying.

In my dream, my dad was shot in front of me, and I was yanked away before I could help.

My chest felt heavy and my throat was tight and sore. I had the urge to run into my father's room and sleep with him like I did when I was little and had a bad dream. I couldn't wake him up though.

I laid awake for the remainder of the time. I watched as the sun rose, pink and orange blending as it peaked through my blinds and was dulled by my curtains. It slowly turned into a hazy blue-silver.

I had the urge to use the restroom. As carefully as I could I got out of bed. I was trying to not wake up Vincent. He looked peaceful. I bet he wasn't dreaming of his dad dying by being shot. I wondered how his dad passed. I knew his dad died while doing time.

I walked into my bathroom. My clothes were sprawled on the floor. My jeans were stained. My once white shirt now looked like it was tye-dyed red. It used to be so white and clean. I'd have to ask dad when he came home how to get the stains out of my clothes. He had experience in bloodied clothes. I knew Vincent did, why would dad be any different? Or if Freddie came home first, then I'd ask him.

Why were my clothes bloodied if I dreamt that?

I did my business and washed my hands. I wanted to see my father so I didn't bother going back to bed. I walked out of my room and down to his bedroom. I opened the door. The bed was made. No one was in it. I frowned and closed the door. Next, I went to his office. Some papers were messed up but he wasn't in there.

Papers were marked with an odd rose color.

I traveled downstairs to his second office. Again, no one. I frowned. I turned around when I heard footsteps. Vincent appeared in my line of sight.

"Alex–"

"I didn't mean to wake you up. . . I'm sorry," I apologized.

"You didn't," he denied. "Why are you up?"

"I was looking for dad. . . ."

His eyebrows met, confusion washing over his face. "Lex–" Vincent cut himself off. He pressed his lips together, avoiding eye contact with me. "What time did you wake up?"

I shrugged. "I dunno. I didn't check my clock." My head was starting to hurt. Why was he interrogating me this early in the morning? What did I do to him to deserve this treatment? Why was his voice so loud?

"I want you to go lay back down."

"Why?" I quizzed. "I don't need you to tell me what to do."

"Alexis," Vincent sighed. "Stop acting like a brat–"

"I'm not a brat. You're just mean to me," I called him out. "And why do you feel the need to yell at me this early in the morning? Fuck off," I muttered. My headache was getting worse. I could feel the low but harsh throbs throughout my whole head.

"I'm not yelling," Vincent calmly stated. "Do you think I'm raising my voice? Am I loud to you?"

"I don't need to tell you anything," I huffed, taking a step away from him and crosing my arms. "I don't even know why you're in my house if you're just going to yell at me as if you're my father. He'd neva let you talk to me like this!"

My head hurt so much. He was yelling at me. It was too loud. Too early.

"I never said that, Alexis. Just listen–"