Drowning

| 1|

_______________________
BAFFLED GIRL
_______________________

MONEY is something that surrounds me. I often have dreams of Benjamin Franklin himself suffocating me with his dirty hands. And when I lay there dead, his handprint is forever indebted around my neck. When I told my therapist this, he tried to put me through rehab. My father had him sued for 'inaccurate diagnosis' or something crazy like that.

Anyways, the reason why money surrounds me may be because my family is one of the richest families in America. Here's my life:

Father is like way loaded. Not only does he own a multi billion dollar company (Taler Electro), he also has my dead grandmas money to go with it. Of course being the rich guy he is, he only hangs out with other rich guys. This means, my house is constantly crowded with jerks. My mother is always gone, due to my father, without fail, buying her a ticket to some exotic place every month. How else is he supposed to have his affairs if my mother is always looking over his shoulder?

My brother, only two years older than me, is the heir to my father's company. He is also like a total lady killer, (Literally. A girl killed herself because of him.) and he's a spoiled brat. He's always using fathers money, buying cars, cologne, the occasional drugs. You know, typical rich boy with daddy's money.

And then there's me. I wouldn't say I am a daddy's girl but I am for sure his favorite. Not only do I have the certain social skills to be brought to his business events but I hardly cause any trouble. The only thing that I have gotten in trouble for was when my therapist tried diagnosing me with bipolar disorder. Anyways, my name is Harlan and money threatens to suffocate me.
_______________________

Father is yelling at Conan again. Being the nosy person I am, my ear is tightly pressed against the door of my brothers room. The yelling is slightly muffled and I have only deciphered two words: drugs and money. Typical. Bored, I walk away and leave them to fight.

Conan and Father fight constantly. Usually during their arguments, something always breaks. It's honestly a record something hasn't broken yet.

Taking the stairs three at a time, I decide a sandwich sounds quite delicious. Due to the fact that father considers them 'eye sores', our kitchen is in the basement. It's a large kitchen, with three pantries and a walk in fridge. When I was younger, I would hide in the long cupboards obscuring the main wall. I would only come out if father and Conan promised they would stop fighting.

Now as I have matured, it has become a habit to at least sit in the kitchen until the yelling stops and our butler picks up any broken glass. Trying not to think about it, I begin to make my self a sandwich. Mayonnaise, spinach, turkey, tomato, and a very thin slice of cheese. It was something of routine, called my 'remedy sand which'.

I sit on a barstool and eat in silence. It isn't until the sound of glass breaking echoes across the house that I know it is safe to come back upstairs. Usually it is Conan who breaks something and that is only when Father has left the room and my brother feels the need to release his anger. I clean up the mess I had made, too selfless to leave it to our butler. I am in a rush to get upstairs because usually after a fight, Conan is in desperate need of comfort.
_______________________

"Your immature behavior has yet to shock me." I state, entering my brothers room. I have to step around the broken remanence of a glass cup.

Conan is sitting on the edge of his bed, his hands tangled in his hair. The only answer I receive is a piercing glare, his eyes filled with anger. I often imagine Conan as the sun, burning a vibrant color and discomforting anything that stays around for too long.