Dead By Night Time - [ENGLISH]

8. Once Bad, Always Bad

Pov Bea Hopkins
________________

The worst thing about falling asleep was probably the fact you had to wake up the next day again. And then especially when your clock alarm doesn't stop ringing. 

With a deep groan I slammed my hand on the old thing, already done with the upcoming day. I didn't want to go to school. I didn't want to go to therapy. And I didn't want to get out of my bed at all. Just nothing. 

I was still hurt so sending me to school would probably turn into a disaster. 

With a sigh I pulled myself out of my heavenly bed and shuffled to the closet, wondering what I could wear which wasn't too hot but neither too cold. In the end I went with blue wide pants and a green shirt with a deep collar. 

'Goodmorning sweetheart.' My mother said when I entered the kitchen. She was like each morning making breakfast, the same she always made. She turned around to give me a short hug. 

'Morning mom...' I muttered in return, feeling like someone had hit me in the face with a bat. She chuckled softly and handed me a plate with some slices of bread with cheese. 

'Eat something before you leave.' She said, guiding me with her hand to the dining table to make me sit. 

'I will, thank you momma... where is dad?' I asked as I threw my head back to see if he maybe was in the livingroom, but it seemed like he wasn't.

'Ah, he's still sleeping, darling, don't worry about it.' She muttered, sitting opposite me with her own breakfast. I slipped my finger over the smooth texture of the plate silently for a while, thinking.

'Mom, dad will get better, right?' I asked after a moment, stuffing a piece of my bread in my mouth while looking up at her. Something in her face changed and she stayed silent for a moment, seeming like to make up an answer. 

I had asked this question so many times before, and I also wouldn't stop asking it. Mom's answer had always been the same lie; "Yes honey, he will, you know that." or another form like that.

'Ah... Of course sweetheart, soon he will be better.' She answered, pricking her egg with her fork. I stared at her with a deep sigh and shook my head. 

'Don't lie, I know he won't get better.' I muttered in response, breaking another piece of my bread. 

'I know you know, I just don't want you to worry too much about him, you already have a lot of worries yourself.' She answered, sounding more honest than before. I appreciated that my mother didn't want me to worry so much about him, but that was almost impossible since I saw every single day how he disappeared more and more into a never-ending deep dark hole. 

A few weeks ago I overheard a conversation between them in the night when I had woken up and I still wished I had never overheard it. My mother was crying that night, scolding her husband for "swallowing so many pills". After hearing those words I had hid in my bed under my pillow, under my blanket, not wanting to hear anything else from what they were talking about. 

I knew the medicines he got didn't work. I knew the therapy and community nursing didn't work. I knew dad was at the edge of giving up and I knew he didn't care. 

Now I was thinking so clearly about it, it hurt me. It always did, I just ignored the feeling. So many times I had told myself it would be alright, while it won't. It fucking sucks. 

'Yeah.' I silently answered, before drifting back to my own thoughts about this whole situation we were living in. 

<><><>

It only took me a few minutes before I was crying in Miss Anderson's office again, and I hated it. I hated how I always had to cry when it came to my feelings. Why couldn't I just talk about them without getting emotional? It wasn't that difficult right?