Finding Elliot West

Prolouge.

Amanda's P.O.V

I laid in the darkness of night, wondering what my life could've held if my parents actually stuck to the vows they once sworn to one another. But now, laying in the company of the silence, then begin to wonder. When did they stop finding comfort in one another?

Children aren't supposed to hear their parents swear about when they fucked up.
Children aren't supposed to feel the pain of having to listen to the shit that goes wrong in the world.
Children shouldn't be so sad that they would rather drown their sorrows in pill bottles.
Children should find comfort in another human being, rather than in the cabinets of their screwed up parents alcohol.
I beginning to anticipate, if children aren't children at all?

As I stare at the ceiling, the faint whispers begin to escape from the lips of my parents as the arguing begins to pick up its pace.

Not this again, anything but this. Please...

"SHUT THE FUCK UP HELEN!" My father shouted.

"Not my damn fault you can't handle the damn truth" my mom yelled back.

Tired.
Tired of the yelling.
Tired of the fighting.
Tried of being here.
Why the hell am I even here?

Before another word was said, I slowly lifted the covers from my blistering body, the cold air was inviting. Dance on my skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Glancing around the memories of my room, as the yelling picked up once more.

"I can hardly stand to see your god forsaken face." This was not recited into a shout, but a soothing one.
The one that once sung with such joy. 
The one that was but once joyful, but no longer exists under the circumstances.

Once my mind caught up to my body, seeing that I was on my feet now. Moving towards my closet. It's like my body knew what was more right for me than my head. Slipping into those white converse as the noise dies down, I caught myself looking around the room. My mind was not yet sure for what, but once my eyes landed on the sight of my keys. My body flung towards them.

I was all set to go, but to where? My eyes darted towards the alarm clock standing on my white vanity my once gracious father built me. It read 1:24 a.m.

Where would you go?

"It was a mistake" my father indignantly expressed.

As the voices began again, I knew I had to leave. There was no way anyone can survive the rest of the night here, especially me. Couldn't bare myself to ignore what was occurring. Everything in my room was blue or black, no other color coexisted in my room except for a narrow white window. Which always somehow ended up being untouched and unbothered.

I glance down at my pale white hands, and push up against the window. The air was brisk out, I began to pull myself through the window frame and outside. Slowly sliding the window back in place.
I want more than what I'm likely to get, want for them to resolve the issue. Want for them to get back to the perfect life we were once living in. Wanting nothing more than what I had, because what I had was okay.

But I suppose it isn't about what I wanted, it was more so about why my father would kiss my classmate. Then go through great lengths to make sure everyone who knew, didn't. That's what happens when you live in a black and white world with picket fences and painted on smiles.