The Failure and the Runaway

Chapter Two

I nervously stood outside my house, not sure if I was prepared for whatever would happen when I walked in. Dad was home too now, but that probably wasn't a good thing for me. He liked to yell at me just as much as my mom did.

That's all they ever did, yell at me and point out every single little thing I did wrong. I know that I was wrong a lot of times, but they complained about everything, no exceptions. They called it constructive criticism, but I think that there's a fine line between constructive and toxic, and they passed it a long time ago.

Taking a deep breath, I walked inside, even though I was shaky and panicked. They sat on the couch in the living room. They were probably waiting for me to come back. Or, as I should say, they were probably waiting to scream and lecture me some more. But as hard as it was living with them, I had no where else to go. I had to suck it up and try to be the nice one.

"Look, I know you guys are probably really mad at me." I said, nervously. "And I'm so sorry."

"Oh, look!" My mom exclaimed in mock surprise. "You're actually sober, that's a first."

"Mom, I'm sorry. It's just-"

I, of course, didn't get to finish. Nothing I had to say ever really mattered.

"Carson, we don't want to hear it!" My dad interrupted me. He was so loud and scary sounding. I wanted to run and hide like I used to when I was little, but was pretty sure that wouldn't work anymore. "We've warned you so many times. We've given you so many chances!"

"Why is it so hard for you to listen to us? How many times have we told you to stop with the drugs and the partying and all the other stupid stuff you constantly get yourself into? We are just so sick of it!" My mom scolded as she folded her arms to her chest.

"Okay." I sighed. "I'm sorry, I really am." I don't know how sorry I really was, though. All I was trying to do was have some fun. God knows living with them was more stressful than I can even put into words, so I didn't see much wrong with having a little fun sometimes. "I won't do that stuff anymore, I promise." I finally said, knowing that if I didn't I would just make things worse for myself.

"Good for you." My dad said, bitterly. "But it doesn't really matter to us, because you won't be staying with us anymore."

"What!?" I spat in anger and shock. "You can't just kick me out, I'm your kid!!"

"We can and we will." My mother showed no real emotion in her voice. No sign she cared about what she was doing to me, her own daughter.

"Can't you just ground me like normal parents?"

"We've tried that." My dad stated, sounding annoyed. "You just sneak out."

"You're really just gonna throw me out on the streets?!" I yelled. It came out as more of a statement than a question. I clenched my fists in anger. I would never actually hit one of them, but I was so mad. They clearly didn't care about me one bit.

"That's where you're gonna end up one day anyways with the way you act!" My dad yelled right back at me.

My jaw dropped open in shock. How do you say that to your own kid?

"Carson, just stop trying to fight it. We have made up our minds!" My mom seemed even more short tempered and mean than usual. "You never listen to us and you're nothing but trouble! Your grades are horrible. You sneak out all the time. You smoke pot. You get drunk. You do nothing at all to help us, ever! You're a complete failure and we're not dealing with it anymore!"

"Wanna know who raises failures like me?" The tears were threatening to spill, and I really couldn't be sure if it was from anger, sadness, or fear. I was feeling overpowering amounts of all three, along with the feeling that I was about to pass out. "Shitty parents like you!" I screamed.

"It's a shame you think that." My dad said calmly and unaffected. "You have ten minutes to pack your things."

I ran up the stairs, stomping loudly and then slamming my bedroom door. All I wanted to do was jump in my bed and cry, but I had no time to do that since the horrible people that I've called my parents were only giving me ten minutes to pack.

I grabbed a suitcase out of my messy closet and started stuffing as many things as I could in it. It was hard to be practical and quick at the same time.

Luckily, I did have a bag packed full of stuff that I would need if I ever actually went through with my plans to run away. It was one of the actual useful parts of my planning, and it would would just as well for being kicked out of my house.

Mostly it just had money in it. I worked at a clothing store in the mall and managed to save around $3000. It wasn't much, not for surviving on your own anyways, but it was something. I also had gift cards to restaurants that I had saved over the years. Whenever I got one as a gift, I put it right in that backpack. I had an old MP3 player with all my favorite songs, and a small, portable DVD player too, along with a few other things that I thought of during my planning - things I thought might come in handy.

I threw the backpack into my suitcase that was already pretty full of random things around my room, stomped back down the stairs, and left without any goodbyes.