Breathe (On Hold Indefinitely)

September 15, 2015

When my eyes flutter open, I'm lying on my bed, sunlight peeking under the curtain. I stay that way for a few minutes, wishing I didn't have a paper over the history of Goldbach's Conjecture due by noon. However, I was off to a late start and could hear Dylan downstairs muttering something about being out of coffee. I sat up stretching, and released an inhuman groan. Eyes half-closed, I make my way down the stairs, tripping slightly over them hem of my sweatpants. I turn off the lights in the kitchen before entering. Dylan is still riffling through cabinets, presumably in search of coffee. He flicks the lights back on, then gives me a once over. "You look like death."

"I feel like death," he continues his search. "I think dad keeps a secret stash in the freezer. Why do you even drink that stuff, it disgusting."

"You don't understand. I NEED it. Besides, you don't actually go to school, you don't have to wake up in the morning." By then he's made his way to the freezer and is sifting it into the filter.

"Not like I have much of a choice with you slamming cabinet doors and whatnot. I think you're becoming too dependent of that stuff, you like a crack addict." He had a point, I hadn't had to catch the bus since sophomore year, yet two years later, I was still running that schedule. By choice or not.

"Hey that's not true, I can stop anytime I want," he says with a crazed grin, throwing in a few twitches for good measure. Shaking my head I make my way over to the cabinet, grab a wine glass, and peer into the fridge. I spot my target behind the milk, then hold the bottle up for further inspection. Hmm, Motts and a fine year at that. I then proceed to fill the glass to the rim, inhaling the dark red liquid's bitter sweet smell, before taking a long drag from the bottle. Warmth fills my insides and I let out small sound of happiness.

"Seriously, you talk about me being an addict," Dylan says shaking his head. "That's, what, your third bottle of grape juice this week?"

"Um, no. This is only the second bottle this week and it's still a third full." I send him a playful glare and grab his keys off the counter, tossing them to him. "But if you could pick up another bottle on the way home from school, I'd be much obliged." Chuckling at my false Texan accent, he turns to say something but instead opts to shake his head and heads out the door.

Downing the last of my glass, I grab my basket of freshly washed clothes off the table and head back upstairs.           

                                                                                                         ☩

Honestly, who knew Goldbach was SUCH a fascinating guy. The humble son of a pastor who grew to be the tutor of a tsar, he spent a large portion of his life attempting to prove his conjecture, only to fail, eventually dying of old age. Wow. Someone's entire life and legacy summed up in two hours of typing and Google searches.

With my paper out of the way, and my readings completed the previous day, I only had a chemistry lab to complete. That however could wait until four hours before it was due Friday. Now it was time for laundry. Grabbing the pile of black fabrics, I toss them on my slightly more faded black comforter. Okay not a good idea. Grabbing what I can of the now scattered pile, I dump them onto the chair that sits beside my dresser. Grabbing my phone, I turn on some music, then begin sorting through the clothes. After deciding whether a band tee was hanger worthy or not ( in the end, it lay at the bottom of the closet with the rest of the commoncloth), my fingers brush something cool and crisp. I pull an unfamiliar leather jacket out from under a few pairs of jeans, making a mental note to ask Dylan if it belongs to him or a friend of his. Finishing the last of the laundry, I check the time. I have two hours to get a shower and make some lunch before I have to wake dad up for his shift. 

Steam pours from behind the shower curtain as I undress, staring into the mirror that hangs above the sink. Dylan wasn't kidding, I look horrible. My typically glossy, dark hair lies limp and my ever-pale skin looks just as lifeless. I hope I wasn't getting sick. I made  another mental note to take some vitamin D with my lunch. I step into the stream of water, the constant warmth soothing my aching back.

"...for daylight , prove me today. One more try. Don't turn away, don't turn away! Come out swinging, come out alone. They're in your way, you may b-"

 I'm interrupted by a crash from upstairs. I quickly finish rinsing my hair them turn of the shower, pulling on a bathrobe. I tiptoe towards the kitchen, sneaking peak out to windows to check for cars. Seeing none, I grab a knife from the cutlery drawer, careful not to make too much noise. I make my way up the stairs checking the bathroom first, then my dad's room. Snoring as usual. I swear he could sleep through an airshow. I head towards my room. Well, if there's an axe murderer in the house, this is where he's at. I open the door quickly, holding the knife along my arm out in front of me. Empty. Sorta disappointing, I was looking forward to testing out those Krav Maga classes. Scanning the room, I spot several books that appear to have fallen off the shelf beside my bed. Hm, so there's my axe murderer.

After lunch, I head up to my dad's bedroom. I try for about ten minutes to wake him up, but he's still, mostly, unresponsive. I hook my phone up to the soundbar beside his bed, then head back to my bedroom. I wait till the door is such and all is silent before turning my volume all the way up, scrolling through my music until I find some Foo Fighter, that should do it. I press play and music blasts throughout the house, followed by a loud thud. I giggle. About five minutes later, my door opens and his head pops in. "The Pretender," he growls. "Nice one, Lilith."

I smirk and roll over onto my bed.

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Okay so, feedback? Please? I'm new to the whole posting-things-I-write-thing. Also, how do I get people to read it? Im so confused. God help me.