Addiction

chapter four

Her name is Harper... Harper.

.

The ten second event of Harper telling me her name has been replaying in my mind for this whole walk home.

.

Not even a minute has gone by as I walk down to the bottom of her street and I hear fast,  heavy footsteps coming from behind me. I turn around and there she is, standing there panting.

"What are you doing?! You supposed to be inside!" I whisper yell as my voice is laced with shock and concern.

"Harper, the name is Harper." She confidently speaks whilst still half gasping for air. Before I get a chance to speak, she turns on her heel and strides back towards her house.

.

.

I reach my house and the thoughts of her are immediately wiped and replaced with dark, negative ones. Dad.

I make my way to the front door and find that its locked.

That's unusual, dad never locks the doors?

I confusingly jump over the side gate and try again with the back door.

No luck.

"What the fuck!" I holler in frustration. It's three in the fucking morning and I'm locked outside.

Why would he lock the doors!

After minutes or repetitive banging on the glass with no response; I turn around, face the back yard and slide to the floor.

I sit. And do what? Absolutely nothing.

My vision is still hazed from my night of drinking and im not thinking straight,  cigarette time.

Standing up I and grab the packet from my pocket and pull the hazardous stick out. There will be two left after this one, fuck.

Continuous drags from the alight stick holding my sanity are taken as I pace back and forth in the back yard, around the bushes, the pool and other places I never knew existed.

I trek towards the mini flat located in the very far back corner of the yard and decide to investigate. I need to sleep.

I spot a big pile of shit stacked up against the door so naturally I make my way over, I feel like a fucking detective.

My heart's immediately weighed down and my breathing halts.

Bags.. there my bags.. and my pillows, along with my clothes.

By this time anger usually consumes me but I just feel puzzled and inconsolable.

         ...No, wait heres the anger..

"Argh!"I roar and begin to kick the side of the flat repetitively. My foot kills but my emotions are too numb to care.

Beads of sweat begin to well up on my forhead making my black, untamed hair stick to my face but I honestly don't care. Why should I care? I have nothing to care for no more.

My dad kicked me out of my house. The house that once used to be filled with laughter and happiness.

After repetitive kicking I decide to stop and take in my surroundings. Surroundings? It's dark you fucking idoit.

I limp to the front flat in hope to find some way to get in, im tired.

In the darkness I spot a folded piece of paper and a small shiny object sticky taped onto the door.

A note and a key. Thank fuck.

A note.

It's so out of character for dad to do this, he's more of the confrontational type and won't put up with no bullshit, but seeing a note taped to the door of the back yard flat has really got me one hundred percent confused.

Coward.

I curiously take it off the door and begin to shake from the reminisced quote, printed with my dads handwriting that has been playing over in my mind for the last six years now.

"The best way to apprieciate something is to be without it for a while."

With blurred vision, I stared at the note holding my bewilderment, heartbreak,frustration, sorrow and did the manliest thing possible...

I cried.

.

.

.

.

.

SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO UPDATE.

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK!

COMMENT ● SHARE ● VOTE

*STAY GROOVY *