Breaking The Grey [Book #2]

Chapter 11: Part 1

Allie

Helena and Jay Samson. My parents whom I no longer remember - to the fullest at least.

This house is pretty narrow and not very rich in decor. The wood looks old and the paint on some walls are slightly chipping. This kitchen table is wobbly with some pretty noticeable scratches. Everything just looks old or used.

Helena Samson, she's in this dingy small kitchen that's warm colored. She looks like me. Well, I look like her.

Blue eyes. Long black hair. White skin and like me, curvy except she has weight on her. You could see it in her arms, thighs and round cheeks. Her white shirt is slightly wrinkled and her pajama pants drag across the floor.

She's making food, washing meat in the sink is what it looks like. My fingers are skinny and tainted a light red. My skin looks full of youth.

Jay Samson, a tall skinny guy with short dark hair and hair on his arms. His face average looking with small stubble. His eyes are a darker blue. I don't look like him, at least I think I don't.

He's just walked in as the skimpy white door slams behind him. He's in a long trench looking coat. Helena or Mom I should say, drops everything she's doing to greet him wiping her hands with a napkin.

"Jay," She said cheerfully. "Did you get it?"

He unbuttons his coat and gives her a quick and witty smile. An odd bulge in his coat pocket is finally settled flat when he grabs a short and stubby bottle of liquid. It's a dark brown glass bottle with black labelings. If only I could read what it says.

You can't read in dreams.

He holds it up proudly, flashing it in her face, "It was about fifty bucks, but you know your man always pulls through."

"Yes! It only gets better from here!" She cheered.

"We'll get a little tipsy soon, for now we have to let this bad boy sit." He said.

"Hand it over, let me sit in the cabinet." She said.

He gives it to her carefully as her hands wrap around the bottle. She scurries her way to the small kitchen sink and reaches the slightly opened light cabinet above. My Dad walks over to the coat rack next to the door and hangs his neatly.

Black thin sweater vest. Light blue button down shirt. Dark jeans. Dressy black pointed shoes. He's come from work or the store or I'm assuming.

"Dad, what is that?" I asked.

He looks at me with a slightly sour face and approaches me. His footsteps are loud consistent until he stops and takes a seat at the table with me. The chair scrapes the ground and he plops down and shrugs.

"It's an Adult drink, kid. Don't go snooping and attempting to open the bottle. I'll whoop your ass if you try it." He said.

"Jay," She said sternly turning back to us. "It's alcohol Allie. It's not for kids."

"What does it do?" I asked.

"Gets you all riled up and loopy. It's what adults drink sometimes to tweak the fun meters up." He answered.

"I thought alcohol was for cuts and stuff. I didn't know you could drink it." I said.

He mumbled, "Boy do you have a lot to learn."

"Well there's no rush to learn about these things. Just know they're not for you." She added.

"What's for dinner sweet cakes?" He asked. "Work has left this growing old grumpy guy starving."

"Just the typical. We have to go food shopping soon. It's like we have animals in this place." She answered.

"Tell that to your animal of a kid here." He said giving me a small glance.

"It's not my fault I'm always hungry." I said.

"You're right, but you damn sure didn't get your appetite from me. You got it from that chunky thing over there." He said pointing over at my Mom.

"Jay, shut up. I'm not chunky." She responded.

He laughed, "And I'm not skinny either."

"There's nothing wrong with having some weight Dad," I said. "Plus you look like you need it."

"I know Tarzan. I just like poking around. You know, it's called a joke." He replied.

I shrugged, "I don't know, your jokes seem to be a little mean. Jokes are supposed to be funny."

She chuckled, "It's okay Allie, your Dad thinks humor is supposed to be hurtful and poking fun at someone's insecurities. Little does he know that's all he is."

"Right. Listen to your Mom. She knows everything." He said sarcastically.

"Perks of being a woman." She said sweetly.

My Dad pushes his chair back, gets up and drags his feet toward my Mom. His skinny hands wrap around her from behind. Their love is so odd. It seems fake. Like someone is hiding something or they're trying to hide something from me.

"Tarzan go to your room until foods ready. Chunky and I need to have an adult conversation." He said twisting his head slightly.

His side profile is sharp. His ears are thick and rounded. They're a good size for his long narrow face.

"But, Mom was going to let me help her cook today," I said.

"I did promise." She added.

"Just have your adult conversation later after dinner when I go to bed." I continued.

"This is important." He responded.

She scoffed, "Seriously it better be. You love to bullshit. It's time for Allie to start learning, Jay. We keep pushing it off because of work and her schooling."

"The kid can learn to cook anytime. It's called the internet and common sense unless Tarzan really is jungle educated." He argued.

Tarzan. Why does he call me that? Is that supposed to be an insult?

"Dad you can't even cook." I replied back.

He turned around and cocked his head, "I'll cook your ass is what I'll do."

I shrugged, "It'd still probably taste bad."

Mom busts out in a giggle. He stands there, his facial expression getting more grim by the second. I snicker lightly and leave the kitchen. My feet feel like they're sinking into the wood and typical sounds are becoming distorted.

"Stop calling her Tarzan." I heard from a distance.

"It's not a bad thing Helena, it's a nickname. It's not like I'm calling her a dirty jungle animal."

Things warp. The floor is breaking. Hinges squeak and echo in my head.

"And stop being so mean to her. I don't like that shit," The last words I heard until everything went grey.