Signing.

Chapter 2 - Delia's POV

When I got home that night my mom and Steve were yelling at each other. I quietly snuck into my room. My bedroom is quite small, there's posters covering every inch of the walls. My bed is small and plain. I have a small dresser with a mirror. In the corner of my room I have all my paint supplies.
I love art, I've been painting since I was six. My dad gave me my first paintbrush, I still use it. It's the only thing of his I have left. It's falling apart now. All of my dad's old stuff is gone, Steve trashed it all in one of his raging fits.
My dad died in a car accident when I was thirteen. The last conversation we had was an argument. I don't even remember what we were fighting about. The argument was that stupid.
I cherish that paintbrush.
  Some of my old paintings lean against the wall, a painting of young Eli sat with a hole punched through the middle. I still keep it though, just because it's my favorite painting of Eli. There's a window looking out into the street. Eli's house is across the street, two doors down.
   On my dresser I have three pictures of me and Eli. One when we were twelve, another when we were fourteen, when I was experimenting with hair dye. The last photo from the summer, it was Eli's seventeenth birthday. We were at the beach and we had just gone swimming, his strawberry blonde hair slicked back and his bright green eyes shimmering in the sunlight and my long dark curly hair straight. My eyes looked darker then they're natural hazel color. I smile at the pictures. They make me happy.
Soon the arguing dies down. I slowly crawl into bed.
  I never told Eli about the abuse here at home. I don't want anything to change between us. I don't want him to worry about me.
  My dad loved Eli, they would always sign about comics and superheroes.
Even though they only knew each other for two years, if you saw them you would've thought they were family. My dad learned sign language for Eli. The three of us were always talking. My mom never understood our conversations. She never bothered to learn ASL.
She never cared.
She never asked me how my day was or how I was doing.
Even when my dad was alive we barely spoke.
When Steve pushes me she turns around and acts like he's this super sweet guy.
She doesn't even have friends because Steve makes her stay home.
I wish my mom didn't marry Steve.
I wish they never met.
I wish she payed more attention towards me.
In her eyes I don't even exist anymore.
My thoughts ramble on and on like someone who won't shut up.
I reach under my pillow for my paintbrush, feeling the peeling paint I bring it in front of me. I look at it in the dark.
I miss him more then ever.
I hug the paintbrush like it's him, then I slowly fall asleep.
-end of chapter two-