Over and Over

Chapter 8

Hello my fellows! I know I promised a schedule, but I apparently fail when I try to pump out my chapters, so I give up. There is no schedule, I'm just gonna post when I can or feel like it. Anyways.... Enjoy!

-Emily :p

Olivia's POV
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One decent plan later, and lots of hunger and boredom later Steve re-enters the room and walks back onto the stage. He takes a deep breath, and busies him self at the podium. His once sharp suite looking a little wrinkled, and his face looked tired. Eventually he straightens himself out before addressing us. As I'm sitting there I realize my palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy (A. N. Anyone catch that reference? :p ) He picks up a clicker from the podium and the lights dim. Over-dramatic bastard. "Hello again," he says with a small nod. "I'm sure your all very confused about what's happening. And I'm here to provide you with some answers. If I recall correctly, you three are from Seattle, Houston, and Tampa, correct?" He says pointing to each one of us in turn. I never would have pegged Samantha as a girl from Florida considering the pale skin and everything. Although I guess I can understand Kyle from Seattle. I know it's a rhetorical question but I find myself nodding anyways. "You probably don't know, but you all attended the same school. A.T.I.C is in multiple states worldwide. A. T. I. C. Is a chain created by one Walter Lumer many many years ago. His goal was to advance evolution as he saw it. He planned to change the gene pool and make humans more advanced. The school was a front of sorts. Because an adults brain, well, because it's more developed it's more difficult to manipulate. Even things like their muscle groups. Children however, your brains are all mushy still. We can fill them with whatever we want. Every thing is still forming. Only children who show great potential for certain genes are admitted into the school. As you might also realize, you all have a missing parent. That was not on accident either." He says.

I just stare. I hadn't talked about dad in years, it never brought happy memories. He had died when I was young, maybe five or so. I never talked about him with mom because she would cry every time. He was the best dad anyone could ask for. He played with me and would pick me up and spin me around. Tears stung at the back of my eyes. He was the best dad, but every time I remember I just remember the last time I was around him. It was at night, I was supposed to be asleep but I had been sick and my coughing would keep me up and my stomach hurt. I heard my mom yelling "Get Out!" Over and over my mom would scream, I knew something wasn't right so I got out of bed and crept towards my door. "Stop, leave me alone just get out please! Leave her alone!" She screamed. Then I heard some crashes and bangs.

I crept closer to their door to the left of my room. I got about a foot before a scream split the air and my parents door swung open swiftly. My dad stood there encased in a shadow. I was always glad I couldn't see him that night. I didn't want to see his face, or anything after what I heard. He took two steps towards me before I turned and ran out the front door. I ran and hid around the back of my house into a small patch of woods I scuttled up a tree and sat still. Coughing and wheezing as quietly as I could. I saw my father's figure, to far away to see any details. He was looking around calling out my name. Needless to say, I didn't go towards him. After a few minutes he walked around to the front of the house and peeled out of the driveway, tires squealing. I never saw him again. When I want back inside, my mom was on my bed just sitting and crying. I came and sat down beside her and she looks up at me. Her eyes were blood streaked and there was an angry red slap mark across her face. There were bruises already developing on her wrists and arms. She pulled me into a hug and we just sat there until morning. We moved the next week. And when we moved I had taken nothing of my dad's. I was angry at him for hurting my mom. A couple days after a letter came in the mail. My mom read it and cried but she wouldn't tell me why. When she went to the store a couple days later I found the letter and read it, curiosity getting the better of me. I could understand little, but I understood the main idea. My dad had died. Drunk driving the letter had said. I didn't belive it, my dad had never touched a bottle as far as I knew. Even my five year old self had known that. I never asked my mom though, I knew it would bring her pain. My little five year old self found out and bared that pain alone. That's why I never talked about him, I just remember the bad.