A Stupid Girl's Book Of Dreams

The Story of a Sad Little Life

I take the long walk home, my truck abandoned in the parking lot. I look around, scanning the place to make sure I'm safe. Living room? Empty. That's good at least. My father was probably either at work or in his room sleeping, in which case it was risky to do anything to wake him. He loved his naps.

We lived in a relatively big house, which I never understood. We didn't have much money that I knew of, as my father always spent what we did have on drugs, alcohol, lottery tickets, and other silly things. It may have just been passed down, but I don't quite understand how he maintains payments.

It was small still, and incredibly run down. A two-story house with a moldy carpet and a moldy staircase. Small, outdated kitchen. One bathroom per floor. The front door leads you into the living room, a shitty kitchen with shitty appliances to your right and a washer/dryer in the corner, a bathroom, and a linen closet to your left. Upstairs is just a hallway, with two doors on each side. On one side you've got my father's room and the spare bedroom, the other side is a bathroom and another dingy closet.

I sleep in the dingy closet because I don't deserve to have a bedroom of my own. A windowless room, with mold on the walls and a mattress on the floor, a ragged quilt laying on top of it, and that's about it.

I glanced at the stairs, praying that the creaking door hadn't woken my father. I head to the kitchen to begin my chores, and then I hear it. The sound of big metal boots pounding down the staircase echoed through the house as it shook. I glanced fearfully at the stairs, making eye contact with the man I feared most in the world.

He hated my name. He refused to call me by it, instead often resorting to just referring to me as "bitch,"

"Bitch! You're home! I have a question for you," His breath reeked of alcohol, which made me fearful of what he would say or do next. He was unpredictable. "Yessir," I responded, looking him directly in the eyes, making sure I was being as respectful as possible. "Do you know how to make that door open and shut quieter?" The breath catches in my throat. Of course, I can't do that. "No sir, I'm very sorry, but I don't think-,"

"How about you get off your lazy ass and go fucking fix it then???"

"On it," I say, looking at the ground.

"And don't you EVER think about waking me up with that damn door again, bitch." he turns around and makes his way back up the stairs, the thundering sound of his footsteps getting quieter with distance as I try to come up with a solution, any at all to fix that damn door.

Because if I don't, I might actually die.

—-------------------------------------------------

I fixed the door, finally, somehow managing to not wake up my father in all that time, and finished all my chores too. He comes down the stairs with a drunken yawn, and I rush to get him water and an aspirin, ready to sit him in his chair. "Did you fix the door?" he asks, as I hand him the water and pills. He tosses the pills in his mouth, gulping down the water. "Yessir, and all of the chores are finished."

"Good, now get out of my face, I don't want to look at your ugly, pathetic face anymore. It's a wonder you haven't gotten knocked up yet with all that slutty makeup you wear," he mutters, and I scramble to get out of his line of sight. "You know..." he slurs out, already zoning off into a new universe, "you may be the most hideous, pathetic little girl I ever laid eyes on, but you've got the body of a whore, a tiny waist, and perfect..." he trails off, and I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing he would stop talking. "BOOBIES!!!!" he screams, jumping out of the chair to squeeze mine as hard as they could until I wanted to cry from the pain. Maybe if I wasn't such a slut, I wouldn't feel so disgusting all the time. Sometimes I wish there was enough hot water in the world to burn off all my skin. If people could be like lizards and shift into new bodies, maybe I wouldn't hate myself all the time.

He began to speak in circles of nonsense again, which I tuned out until he mentioned a man's name that I'd heard before.

"We need money... I gotta buddy that'll pay a pretty penny for a body like that... Harry loves him a cheap whore he can use and discard... man, I'll be rich off you."

"What?" I ask, not sure I heard him right. Harry was one of the men I feared with every fiber of my being, up there with my father.

"You're getting sold! You're already a good-for-nothing slut, why not put it to some use and make daddy some money off it, eh? He's been told no mercy, the second you fuck up and it's off to the meth lab. Now get out of my sight, I don't want to look at you."

This is so bad. Harry was worse than my father, somehow. I have to try, now more than ever, to be careful.

Edited chapter 1 finally!

I can't believe I'm about to actually publish this but... here goes nothing! This is a really old draft I recently edited, and the rest of the story is under some serious work. It took a lot of confidence to actually publish this, since I only have a few chapters actually rewritten. But I'm going to try and maintain a schedule, posting on Thursdays, with the exception of this week since it's Tuesday, and get the rest to the wattpad community asap!

Please comment if you like this, right now I'm just testing the water to see if it'll actually do well or not, because if not I may not bother with wasting my time on the rest. I hope you enjoy, and happy reading!