Dirty Little Secrets

Chapter Three

     I entered my "home", as most would call it. I just called it the place I slept, simply because that was the only thing I did there. Usually, I tried to avoid being home. I didn't enjoy the people there, mainly because of the bickering. I got tired of always being told that I was useless, no good, and simply unlovable.

     I walked through my house, admiring everything I used to love as a child then headed up the stairs. The walls were covered with family photos. My sister's growing up, from when they were babies until they were in college, photos of when my mother and father were still happy together. Every time I walked up this staircase I would laugh to myself. I thought it was funny I wasn't in any of the photos. My parents even cut me out of the family portrait.

     I made it to my bedroom and pushed open the door covered with Megadeth posters. I had always admired Dave Mustaine for being an amazing rhythmic guitarist. I sat on my bed and began to think. I thought about anything and everything when I was in that room. I would always end up with headaches from my world spinning around me. I had the problem of over thinking everything and creating problems that weren't there in the first place.

     I propped myself up on my forearms and grabbed the Rolling Stones magazine that was laying next to me and began to read. Eventually I fell asleep, singing to myself.

     I awoke to the sound of slamming doors. I knew what this meant...My father was home. I scrambled to my feet and rushed over to lock the door, but I was too late. There he stood. I could tell he was drunk, he could barely stand straight and his breath smelled of Vodka and Tequila.