Flying Without Wings

Chapter 4

A/N: Okay, okay, I know I'm really bad at this. How long has it been since the last update? Ugh, I don't even want to know. I'm so sorry! I have starting sorting out a specific time for writing since I'm always having a debate of whether I should read or write on Wattpad. 

Anywayyy, I'm really not feeling this chapter. I have no idea why and I'm too lazy to edit. Maybe cuz there's no Cole in this one. :( Sorry about that, but you get to meet Breeze's very lovely dad in this chapter so you people sort of have and idea of what he's like.

So, thank you for reading and enjoy! ;D

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I stifled a yawn as I passed a box of macaroni and cheese under the bar code scanner. Beep. Yogurt. Beep. Guava juice. Beep. Three boxes of Granola bars. Beep. Beep. Beep. Carton of eggs. Beep. Whole wheat bread. Beep. Pack of toilet paper. Beep.

A young woman, whose baby daughter was giggling in the grocery cart's baby seat, finished pushing groceries onto the conveyor belt. I began dropping her groceries into the crinkling plastic bags as she offered her credit card to the scanner. I punched in the amount and the computer hummed as it worked. It spat out her receipt and I slipped it among her groceries.

I helped the woman load the bags into her cart and she wheeled it away, her toddler drooling as she chewed on two of her fat, baby fingers.

I turned to the next customer and went back to the beeping of the scanner as more groceries were pushed my way.

It was an automatic routine. Scan, sort groceries into bags, type amount, rip receipt, and repeat. Dull, boring, and gave me time to think.

Currently, the topic of how to avoid my dad when I got home was being tossed around in my head. It was a common conversation I had with myself.

Go in or sit outside on my old swing set? Back door or front door? Go through the living room or the dining room? Go to my room or the guest room?

It was impossible to predict where my father would be. Would he be waiting for me in my room or at the front door like he sometimes did after a frustrating day? Or would he be reclining in the living room and I could stay out of his way? Would he be drunk or sober? Which one did I prefer? Alcohol threw him off but increased his anger. When he was sober, he had more strength and balance, but wasn't as bad as he was when he was drunk.

Fear swirled through my thoughts, tinting my decisions. Every time I choose one, fear pointed out why not to choose that one. In the end, I had no idea what to do.

Soon, the hour hand on my clock began inching closer to eight. As soon as it ticked past the black number printed on my watch, I felt a familiar tap on my shoulder.

"You're shift's up, Aria," Tiffani said politely, referring to my middle name that was on the tag pinned to my chest. I nodded wordlessly as I finished up with the man's groceries that I had been bagging. Tiffani shooed me away from the computer to take my place, and waved at me as I left through Walmart's gleaming automatic doors.

The wind harshly bite at me as soon as I climbed down from the bus. I wrapped my flimsy coat tighter around myself in attempt to get some sort of warmth out of it. The street was dark with only a few flickering streetlights to cast pools of yellow, wavering light. The moths that circled around the lights caused large shadows to flit against the light before they fluttered away. Light spilled from the houses that lined the street as I walked by, my feet softly crunching on the gravel.

Eventually, I made it to the end of the street and in front of my house. No light was on inside and the house hardly stirred. The unkempt yard gave the house an unwelcoming feeling and the bent over tree that hunched over the front of the yard was frantically waving its leaves in the wind as if it was trying to warn me not to go in.