Monica's P.O.V
A new life, so they said.
A new start, a clean slate, new begins, past is past and all that shit.
I wasn't feeling the optimism my mom and Tres dad had hoped sending me here would give me.
If anything, this small, already crowded, dusty and dulling room was beginning to feel less of 'a new life' and more of 'I need a drink'.
My eyes stare vacantly at all the suite case and bags. There's no strength in me to touch them. Part of me was wishing I wouldn't have to, that my mom would call me up and tell me that she regrets her idea and all these bags would be chucked back into the backseats of her car.
That wasn't going to happen, I didn't know my mom well but I didn't have to to know she didn't like me. She wouldn't be regretting her idea anytime soon.
I take my eyes off the bags and on to the shut bedroom door. My life in this room was no better than my life outside of it. Not with that idiot downstairs.
Regardless, I stand up. Deciding to leave the room and make my way downstairs.
I hadn't heard much noise down there, with a bit of luck Tre might not even be home. In that case I could help myself to whatever he's keeping in his cupboards downstairs.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I pause for a minute. I still can't seem to hear anything. No movement or mumbling, no voices in the house at all. If you disregarded the one in my head.
I walk through the kitchen, it's empty, I pop my head around the living room door way, also empty.
Wonder where he is.
Actually, I don't really care.
The cupboards are disappointing. A pack of spaghetti, a jam jar, a few tins of tomato soup, a tin of tuna and one of salmon.
"I haven't done the grocery shopping yet,"
My heart jumps out of my mouth as I spin around, Tres looking back at me. I can see the smugness washed across his face, all I want to do is whack it off.
I don't. I sigh, my hand clutching my chest. "Don't do that,"
"Do what?" The smirk on his face means he knows exactly what. With that, he takes the lit joint that had been hanging from the corner of his mouth between two fingers. "You were the one trying to raid my cupboards,"
My eyes roll involuntary. "Should I be asking for permission to eat?"
"If you weren't trying to raid my cupboards then why did you check the whole downstairs before having a look?" The smugness grows.
I can't stand it. "And where were you?"
He points his thumb over his back to the kitchen window, a perfect view of his back garden. There I can see a lawn chair next to a small table, a beer can on top.
"You've got beer?" Is my first question.
He shakes his head. "Last one,"
That I don't believe.
I cross my arms hastily across my chest, this was already showing to be a terrible shit show. "I suppose I'll have to go out to find something good to eat then?"
"Not a fan of soup?"
"You're unbearable Frank,"
The smugness is wiped away. I smile. Mine probably looks just as smarmy but I can't help it.
Nothing gets under his skin more than 'Frank'.
I extend my arm out, two fingers open hoping he might pass the joint over.
