Hitchhiker #wattys2016

Chapter 1

I biked through the empty streets of my neighborhood. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as I coasted swiftly down a hill, enjoying the calming effect that the wind in my hair had on me. I opened my eyes to gaze at the stars far above me and listened to the crickets sing their song. Despite how exhausted I was from my long day, the warm spring air had a way of bringing my racing mind to a calm and peaceful place.

'If only I could stay in this moment,' I thought to myself, 'I could be happy forever.' I enjoyed this peacefulness for as long as I could before I reached my street. I pulled on the brakes as my house came into view. The chipped paint, flickering porch light, and plant life growing through the cracks in the driveway made the place look haunted. I leaned my bike against the wall of the garage and stepped into the house. I kicked off my shoes and gripped my bag tightly as I made my way out of the laundry room and into the living room. I walked as quietly as I could so as not to disturb Steve. I found him sleeping in his armchair, wearing his usual stained white t-shirt and hole-y jeans. His left arm hung over the arm of his chair and an empty vodka bottle was on its side on the floor.

"Lovely." I said, looking at the mess that was my stepdad. The living room was where he spent most of his time. If you took one look around the room you'd see that he didn't know how to clean up after himself. There were bottles- some broken and some half emptied- empty bags of chips, plastic cups and forks and spoons, paper plates, and fast food containers from Taco Bell and Lion's Choice and McDonald's. The stench of rotting food was enough to make me gag. I couldn't wait to get out of this roach infested hell-hole. I tiptoed to my brother Peters' room. The door was closed but I could hear the sound of rustling paper and the scratch of a pen in a notebook. I knocked gently on the door and was invited in. I shut the door quietly behind me. I found him in his chair hunched over with his hands in his hair. Stepping into either Peters' or my room was like stepping into an entirely different house. Unlike Steve, Peter and I valued cleanliness and organization. His bed sat in the far corner of the room with dark blue blankets to match the color of his walls. Opposite the bed was a black desk handed down to him from our mother. Peter looked up at me and smiled slightly. He swiveled his chair around to face me.

"How was work?" He asked and ran a hand through his messy dark brown hair.

"Fine. I can't wait to get out of this stinking uniform and get in the shower. I smell like mcnuggets," I wrinkled my nose and Peter chuckled, "What are you working on?" I gestured to the notebook and numerous papers on his desk.

"English. For our final we're doing an essay on Macbeth."

I nodded. "What do you think we'll do after we graduate?" I asked, thinking about how little time we had left until senior graduation. This was a topic we didn't talk much about, because we honestly didn't know what was going to happen. Would Steve force us to stay? Where would we go if we could get away?

Peter took a deep breath and shrugged, "I know one thing: We're not staying here."

We stayed there in silence for a few moments before Peter piped up again, "There's some pasta and chicken in the fridge for you. You should eat before he wakes up."

"Thanks, Pete," I said, and left. I carefully walked past the sleeping beast, but I reached the kitchen without him waking. Peter was the one responsible for cooking the meals. He always had a knack for making food, and thankfully, mom had realized his talent when he was young. I have several memories of sitting on a stool in the kitchen and watching the two of them cook and bake. I smiled as I took my pasta and chicken out of the microwave, remembering the flour smeared across both their faces whenever they made cookies.

When I had finished the delicious meal that Peter had saved for me, I got up from my seat at the kitchen table, and in the process of doing so, I knocked the empty bowl off the table. The bowl shattered on the floor by my feet and I froze in horror at the loud noise it had made. I didn't move until I heard Steve pull himself out of his armchair and thunder towards me. I screamed when he burst through the kitchen door and I tried to make a run for it, but there was nowhere to go.