Shielded.

Chapter 1

You know those kids who are shielded by their parents? Like that girl from that Tumblr post who didn't understand the birds-and-the-bees, because her over protective, selfish parents never told her about it, and ended up pregnant? We weren't those kids. Well... I mean... We knew about it, we understood the meaning of sex, drugs, and violence and that thing that your parents told you when you were little kids like "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it all" just to make their parenting look more justified. We were those kids that looked sex, drugs, and violence in the face and said "Let's do this, fucker."

I guess we can start the story where the hurt feelings began. When I was seven, my father left my mother, brother and I behind for whatever reason, I can't truly say. Because I don't know. Years before then (years 1-6) were kind of jolly, we were your typical All-American-Suicide family. You know, the cookie cutter family that every American woman dreams of: Two kids, a loving husband, and a semi-nice house. We participated in the county fair, and neighborhood activities, I was even invited to birthday parties, and my mother always tried to include us into some kind of sport, or outdoor activity that got us recognized locally in someway. She wanted more for us then what she and my father could offer. I attended Fairway Middle School, and I even tried out for the cheerleading squad, and made it. I know. Disgusting. Anyway, after my father decided to leave behind his American Dream family, my mother confided in alcohol, and so, I was exposed to alcohol, marijuana, violence, and sex from ages nine to... Now. At the age of 17, my mother decided to leave Pittsburgh for Fort Lauderdale, Florida. I wasn't even devastated, the house we lived in at Pittsburgh was no longer a home, and we had practically lost everything to my mothers alcohol addiction. By the time we drove to Fort Lauderdale, bought, well, rented a home, and paid for pizza the night we got there, we were broke. All we could afford was a beat up, old mobile trailer home in a trailer park with similar, old, beat up hags.

We settled in finally a year after, and my mom found a man who only contributed to her addictions, who had two other piece of shit daughters who never helped, or cared about anything other than themselves. My life is no longer cookie cutter, an American Dream, a want-to-be-lifestyle, anything. My life is nothing. My brother was so sick of it here, he left and entered Basic Training for the U.S. Marine Corps. Well, I don't think that's why he left, that's my reason. His reason was most likely that he felt it was his calling in life. Good for him, though. I'm glad he found his calling; where the hell is mine?

It's fall now, the school year is starting up again. I have to attend my twelfth grade year again because my mom decided that it was best to leave in the middle of my twelfth grade year in Pittsburgh. How pathetic. Eighteen years old and still in high school. Hah. Thank you mother, for nothing. I drive to school on the first day, in my most prized possession, and the only thing I own to my name. The one thing my mother can never pawn to supply her drugs; my grey 1989 Camaro. I saved up and actually bought it myself. At the front of the school there's a huge flag wavering that screams "WE'RE THE BEST HIGH SCHOOL IN ALL OF FLORIDA!!!" Well, that's not what it really says, it actually says "Fort Lauderdale High: Home of the Bears." The bright green and yellow stripes sting my eyes, who even thought that green and yellow went good together? To whoever decided that: I am not pleased by your existence.

The bell rings as I enter my first class, the teacher comes in. A large, well, fat-ass, woman with dark, short hair waddles into the room with the fake "Welcome to the first day of High School" smile on her face. The role is called, "Charlie Thompson!" The woman shouts, and scans the room for an appearance.

My hand wonders into the air.

Half the class turns around, I flash an insincere smile to all of them. The woman finishes the role and proceeds to write her name on the board. Mrs. Busch.

I zone out after a few minutes of Mrs. Busch reading the class and campus rules. I could care less about rules, I could care less about this place, I could care less if I even made it home tonight. I'm the only one in my "home" working, and I pay the rent, I buy the groceries, and I'm practically supporting four other people. I'd love to see them all go to shit.