The Girl Who Met A Boy

Chapter 2

Entry 28

I say I don't want to talk about it but I do, but I'm afraid of people's reactions. Maybe that's why I write this. I'm afraid that no one will ever see me as an equal again. I'm afraid of the pity in someone's eyes when they realize how screwed up I am. I feel like crap, but I'll still smile because I'd rather not talk about it. I feel like everybody might secretly hate me. They are just polite enough to deal with me. They are nice enough to not admit it to my face when I wish that if it was true that they would just tell me. They just think it in their head and talk about it on the days I didn't go to school. Talk about it when I'm not around. Laugh at my obliviousness. Am I just paranoid? I feel as if this is what true paranoia feels like because there's a small part of me that feels I'm being irrational about this. - Abigail Mcneal

I shut my notebook again. I had left the cafe, leaving money on the counter and started my way home, earlier today. I came home to irritated parents and then they let my siblings get into my stuff. Their excuse is that "I should've been here then." That was so unfair. Don't they know what privacy is? My brother TP'd my room, while I was out, unfortunately. My parents were mad because I didn't tell them I was leaving. It's not like they ever cared before, so why should they start now. I was busy cleaning my room up for an hour or so. I can't believe the mess my brother was able to make. After, I just flopped on my unmade grey bed and started writing. That reminded me. Those grey stormy eyes. Who was he?

"Abigail! Get down here right now! Get the rest of your shit upstairs, then come down here and put the dogs outside and feed them, then could you make the kids some dinner. Thanks, hon.", My mom yells from downstairs, as I rush down to meet her. She hates it when I walk too slow to her. I should know this drill by now. I do it about every day. It's not that bad. My mom gets mad when I don't go fast enough or if I accidentally forget something. It's not like she couldn't help me. She was just sitting on the couch playing on her phone. Wasn't that supposed to be me, since I'm the 17-year-old? Forget it. I'm fine.

By the time I was done, I was just trying to catch my breath. The dog tried to bite my brother cause he tried to take the dog's food. I told him not to do it. My mom wasn't doing anything, so when I pushed him out of the way, getting bit myself, I was the one that got in trouble. She said I didn't have to push him but the dog was so close, while my brother glared at me as I made the long ascent to my room after being sent there for the ordeal. At least, I didn't have to be down there anymore. I glanced at the red dog bite on my arm. It was slightly bleeding but I went into my connected bathroom and washed it off.

After a few hours had passed of just sitting around my room, I continued to put the place together, when my dad called me downstairs and I noticed my sister and brother must already be in bed. Thank god.

"Yes?", I ask once I get downstairs. My dad is waiting on the living room couch with a serious look on his face. My mom sat on the chair across the room, steaming. Oh, I knew she was pissed and it wasn't directed at me this time.

"What is it?", I ask again when no one answers me.

"Why don't you sit down, sweetheart.", my dad says softly. Uh oh. This can't be good.

"What's with the 'sweetheart'?", I asked, crossing my arms, refusing to sit, and putting emphasis on the word "sweetheart" as I felt it crawl across my tongue abnormally. He hasn't called me something like that in years. He sighed, looking to the ground.