They're yelling again.
Ugh. I hate it. Every time I walk in the door, another one slams, and then someone yelps. I've never figured out which one though; whether it's my mom or my dad yelping.
Ah. Who cares?
Screw this. I think. Why do they always have to be this way? Heck, if they've always been this way, why'd they even have me?
It doesn't make sense anymore. I've never figured out whose fault it is, or what the cause is--maybe it's just them. Maybe they just fight so that they could make up and make out. I, quite frankly, don't want to know, and obviously, they don't want me to either.
Quietly climbing the stairs, but trying desperately to hurry so that I could get out of this mad house as fast as possible, I reach my room. My door is closed with the "Stay Out" signs, and police tape completely covering every inch of white that is supposed to be there. I push open the door, and then walk over to my drawer and pulled my iPod and headphones out.
Usually when this happens, I leave the house for the night, sometimes just for a few hours, just as long as I don't have to hear the helpless shouts and yells of my parents. It doesn't matter where I go, just as long as I am gone.
I stuff it into my pocket, check my phone for messages, run back downstairs and out the doors to the hot driveway.
My car isn't the best, but it works. A 2001 Toyota Corolla, which has been in numerous crashes, and then paint is falling off. It is black which pronounces my personality pretty well. I try to hide my feelings--putting on a show for the ones who think they knew me. I hope they never will. It makes sense to them, because whenever they come over, mom and dad are gone, as if they aren't always. So, by default, they think everything is okay. But little do they know, that it is the exact opposite of what it's like when they're home.
My car's interior isn't the greatest either, but it holds up--just like I do. The radio--thankfully--works well. That is a plus--an add to what I was looking for when I bought the car.
I put the key in the ignition, and pull out of the driveway.
The sun seems to blister down upon me as if I were cursed, but it shows me hope--hope that there was a future and maybe a good one. Ah, but who knows? Obviously not me. The park is almost shimmering with happiness as the kids play on the swings, with smiles that are almost brighter than the sun itself. As the kids slide down the slide, without a single care in the world; as the parents gladly play the childish games, reliving their own childhood.
It makes me smile, yet frown from both the happy and the sad thoughts I am having. The happy, because these kids were so lucky to have such wonderful parents, and the sad because I never did.
The tears fill my eyes, and then I pull the keys out of the ignition, and then stumble lazily out of the car, and onto the sparkling concrete of the path.
I walk slowly to the empty swings and sit down in one. I pull my iPod out of my pocket and plug the headphones into my ears, hoping that I can drown out my life. I turn it on to the new Three Days Grace CD, finally content that I can close my eyes and not worry.
The sun beats down upon my face, and I let it. It makes me feel important. Don't ask how, but it does. I smile, for the first time this week, and it's Friday.
"What song is that?" A low voice asks me in my ear. I snap my head around to see a boy--almost a man. His black hair spiked up, and his blue eyes gleaming at me. His teeth completely and utterly white. His flannel shirt waves in the wind, which makes me glance down at his well built chest. He smiles at me, and then I slip back into reality.
