Lost Girl

part 2

It's the weekend. I hate weekends. It's more difficult to get out of this prison, than it is just to not come here. I clean the house from bottom to top, scrubbing every room, winceing at my fathers watchful eye. Sometimes I think about what it was like before, when he was my hero, not my nightmare...but then I push those thoughts away quickly. No use thinking about it really! 

"Go clean your mothers room!" My father yells up to me, as I scrub the tub. My brown hair, up in a messy pony tail, lets loose a few small strands that stick to the sweat on my face. These strands are shorter than the rest of my hair, due to Daddy dragging me to my room by it, when my hair ripped out he'd get a better grip. 

"Moms room?" I holler back.

"Did I fuckin stutter?" I never clean Mom's room. I never go in Mom's room. "It stinks, move it!"

I hurry to finish the tub, throw the cleaning brushes back under the sink along with the bleach, then hurry down the stairs. He's right, Mom's room does stink. It smells like whiskey, ciggarrets, and dirty laundy. Its musky, and dark. I pull the brown and green curtains back and watch the dust dance in the sunlight. Mom's not here, big suprise, she's never here, and when she is she dosent talk to me. She tried to a couple months ago, I was doing the dishs and she asked me how school was, I looked at her confused, and she just turned and went to her room. This room. Funny, it dosen't look much like a sancurary to me. Maybe I should've answered her, who knows, maybe we could've had a whole conversation, me and her. Maybe even more than a few sentences. 

I hurry around the room, piccking up the dirty cloths and running them to the laundry room, before fixing the bed, when I dust the night stand, picking up the fallen ciggarette buts, I see a picture frame, laying face down. I dust it off. It's my mom and me, when I was just a baby. I had a cheesy grin on my chubby face, popsicle juice running down my chin, but thats not what caught my attention. My mom, i havent seen her look this way in a long time. So long that I almost forgot what she truelly looked like happy. Her hair, thin and torn now, is full and beautifully brown. Her skin, now cracked, dryed and splintered, is tan, creamy and flawless. That smile. Those eyes, there is an eternity in those eyes. She dosen't look like this anymore, now she looks souless, dead, like me. And my father? He's the murderur. 

I set the picture back how I found it, eventhough everything in me wants to take the photo with me.  

I hurry through and finish Moms room, and hurry in to clean her bathroom. I open the medicene cabbanet to put her pills back and everything falls out. "Dammit!" I'm putting it all back, when I find them, in a small box. I slide it open and the light shines off the metal razors. I stare at them blankly for what feels like an eternaty, then I hear his footsteps. I hurry and shove one in my bra, put the box back and continue to clean. 

"Go get some bread, I'll make dinner tonight." Uh, usally I fend for myself in that department, wonder what the occasion is. He hands me a few dollars, "Well, hurry on now!" He demands, looking around the bed room. I squeese past him, trying not to touch him, and hurry out the door. 

Huh, guess I should've grabbed a jacket. I think as I walk down the broken wooden steps. The chill of the November air sinds a shiver up my spine, My torn jeans and black T shirt arn't doing much good. I wrap my rms around myself turning the cornor, and pull out a ciggarette. Normally I wouldnt be in a hurry to get back, but its well past five and it'll be getting dark soon. 

I hurry to the store, enjoying my ciggarette, grab the bread and jog back home. 

Dad decides to go with peanut butter and Jelly sandwiches and peaches from the can, I take my share, and put it on my plate, trying to ignore the thick akwardness in the room, and the blade pokeing my breast. I start to head towards my room, where I usually eat my dinner, if I eat dinner. "Where you going?" My dads voice stops me.