turning the key

3

Martha was awoken to the smell of decayed wood, mixed with stale water and sweat. The usual smell. She wiggled her toes, ruffling the blanket, surprised to find her freezing toes still attached to her body. She got out of bed slowly, fumbling around her room for her glasses. She pulled on a pair of old jeans, and a white T-shirt that reeked of cigarettes, hoping Chad wouldn't notice. She stole out of the cramped room, gliding down the hall into the kitchen for breakfast. She opened the fridge, completely​ forgetting the loud creeking it emited.
She froze, listening closely for her step father. After the coast was clear, she snuggled a apple into her coat pocket and  she left the house without a trace of her existence whatsoever. Jumping into the car, she put the keys into the egnision and headed to her highschool.

She pulled to the front of the entrance, starring blankely at the looming, intemidtating building ahead. Martha let out a sigh, and pulled her car around the the parking lot, grabbed her bad out of the back, and foolishly walked into the greedy arms of her hell.

"Martha? Are you even listening?" She was pulled back from her daydream, the noisy lunchroom once more sufficating her in judgment.
"Sorry." She replied, poking at her food gloomily.
"Are you alright? Your more pissy than usual." I looked up with a glare at a friend that had somehow stuck with me since middle school. I was amazed and Amanda's ability to put up with my bitchy mood swings and sudden highs and lows.
"You gonna eat that?" I ignored her recent comment, snatching the role off of her plate. She rolled her eyes, opening her milk and letting out a groan as the bell rung.
"Math sucks ass.." she mumbled, as she threw her book bag over her shoulder and trudged moodly out the door, leaving me alone at the table. It was odd how we were so distant, yet she was one of the largest pieces in my broken puzzle peice life. We always understood each other, even if there was no real concept to understand. My mother had always said she was a good listener, when she was alive anyway. The sudden thought of my mother pulled me back into my head, my thoughts whirling around agressively in my mind, pounding senselessly in my ears. I felt the tears welled up, and before I knew it, I was being taken home in my father's old blue truck, burring my face into my hands and crying uncontrollabley.

After several moments, my sobs had submitted into sniffles. My step dad cleared his throat uncomfortably, pulling at the color of his stained, Torn t-shirt.
"You um.. alright?"
"Yeah." I mumbled, staring out the window at the passing cars.
"Well alright.."
The next 5 minutes home were uncomfortably silent, the occasional word or two being thrown into place. We pulled up into our drive way, and I got out of the car quickly, running upstairs to my cramped bedroom and falling into the creaking bed. I stared up at the ceiling numbly, creating pictures with the bumps and cracks in the well worn ceiling. I slowly fell into a restless sleep. before long, the image of the ceiling slowly melted away with my concioness.