Rays of sun peak through the blinds covering my bedroom window. I roll over and grab my phone from the desk sitting beside my bed.
4:25.
The massive head ache and stale beer breath I have isn't making me feel much better after yesterday's events. I go to the bathroom that's connected to my bedroom. I splash cold water on my face, and then look up to observe myself in the mirror. Bruises surround my cheeks, probably from falling asleep on a bed of rocks at the park. My long, dark hair is disheveled, only making me look a million times worse. I have morning stubble and dark circles underneath my dark brown eyes. I brush my teeth and get in the shower. The scalding hot water burns my skin, but I don't mind. I want to be woken up from this nightmare called life. After standing there for a good thirty minutes, I finally prepare myself to get grounded for the rest of my life.
Don't get me wrong, I love my parents, but sometimes they just need to get off my back. At least mom's not a drug addict, and father isn't dead. Dad has a good paying job, so it's not like I'm poor. My house is a decent size for a family of three. I do get lonely without a brother or sister, but whenever I see my buddies fighting with their siblings, I'm thankful my mom can't get pregnant again. I walk back into my room, observing the letter lying on the floor by my bed. I sigh, and pick it up. I read it one more time, my heart shattering one more time. I place it on the nightstand, and begin to make my bed. I'm sort of a neat freak, if my room is a mess, then my mind is a mess. After the room is decent looking, I decide that my mind is still a mess.
I decide it's time to face the parents. My doom awaits me.
My feet plunk down the stairs, and take me to the kitchen. The aroma of coffee draws me in. I need to satisfy my addiction. I pour a cup, and sit down at the table, just waiting until the both of them emerge from the living room.
"Ash. We need to talk about this morning." Dad declares, while observing me as I nonchalantly sip my scalding hot coffee. I sigh, and begin to explain myself.
"Look, I got bored last night so I went to a party. I got drunk for no apparent reason, and then went to the park at three in the morning. I was so wasted that I fell asleep right there on the ground. After I woke up, I came straight home. I swear I'm not doing cocaine or on acid." I say without pausing between sentences. I let it all flow out, and tell the truth. I'm too exhausted emotionally and physically to lie. Except about the letter. That's between me and the girl who took her life.
My parents sit there with blank expressions on there face, so I can't tell what they're thinking. Putting on their best poker face. I observe my mother's stern face. She's beautiful, in a quiet sort of way. Her light brown hair has begun to turn gray already, and her hazel eyes are filled with anger towards me. She's short and thin, but fiesty for someone who's so small.
My dad is tall, like me, and is beginning to lose his dark, brown hair. Dark circles form under his eyes, which look exhausted from all the commotion that I've seemed to cause lately. He lets out a long, deep sigh. Finally, the parents have decided on something.
"Look, Marie. I don't think Ash should have too bad of a punishment. Kids will be kids. Remember when we were teens and went to parties just to come home reeking of alcohol?" Dad looks at my mother, with a look of playfulness and humor lighting up his face. Dad has always been on my side, it seems. Always claiming that, kids will be kids. I mentally roll my eyes at him, but silently thank him.
My mother folds her arm, and gives me a stare that could be a worse enough punishment.
"Craig, he's never going to learn if he isn't punished for his actions!" My mom says, fiercely. They argue about it for a few more minutes, but finally decide on a compromise.
"If we find out that you're getting wasted again at any parties, then you will really get in big trouble. This is your only warning." Mom declares to the entire world. I get up from the chair and plant a kiss on top of her head, and pat Dad on the back. I run back up the stairs to my room.
Each time I glance at the letter, it feels like another bullet pierces through my body. I need to find out who this girl really is. I need to learn more about her past; By searching in the cracks and crevices, by digging up old, dusty books.
