Turning Point

Chapter One

My name is Delilah Striven. I have black hair that goes just below my shoulder and my eyes are a light grey-blue. I have almost all of my dad's features. I know this because my mother has blonde hair and green-grey eyes. I haven't met my father; well, I have but I don't quite remember him all that well. I also have a little brother named Zach; he will be going into kindergarten soon once he turns six in a month. 

Every other day it's "I've raised you better than this." or "Go to the store and buy me a pack.". For one, my mother sucks at raising. I've basically raised my brother his whole life, and raised myself for part of mine. Second, I can't buy booze, or beer, or ''Grown-Up Juice", whatever the hell you adults call it. My mother bought me a fake ID so I can purchase her beer for her whenever she's lazy. 

I taught myself to be a good person, well, better than my mother. I've already explain to Zach that mother was a bad person and the cops and firemen were good people. I basically gave Zach a brief summary of the rules of society and how he should act. Surprisingly, despite his age, he understood every word I told him. 

I don't know the story of what happened between my father and mother. My mother told me that he went with another woman, leaving me and her behind in the old house we live in today. Mother told me that her and father were going to get married, but it changed of course. After he left, coming from my mother, she began to drink and drink. I don't think I should believe her, even if she makes convincing stories. 

Sometimes, I wonder why I was born in to a family like this; it isn't really much of a family. 

...

"Delilah!" my mother yelled from downstairs. I sigh and continue reading My Chemical Hearts. It's a very good novel, and I'd recommend it to anyone. "Delilah Marie Striven!" I groan and get up from the bed, closing my book and stand from my bed. 

I have a small room, well, small to me. It has a small bed with an oak headboard, and flowered bed sheets, and a blue blanket and a blue pillow. A white dresser is against my right wall closest to my only window, a tall mirror beside it (I don't bother even looking into it.). I also have a desk with a built in book shelf that contains many novels. My walls are beige with nothing on them, literally nothing; some of the paint is chipping. I walk out of my room and down the stairs, preparing myself for what my mother has to say to me. 

"What were you doing? I have been calling your name for at least twenty minutes." She remarks (it wasn't twenty minutes, more like five.). I want to say something rude, but I think it's in my best interest to keep my mouth shut. 

"I was reading a book. I apologize, I was really into it." I answer quietly. She rolls her eyes and sit in a chair at the kitchen table. The table has stains of old drinks she spilled and rings where cups have sat. 

"I don't understand why you waste your time of reading. Books are meant to be burned for heat." My mother says. I resist the urge to say something back, defending my passion for reading.

"Do you need something?" I ask her. She nods and plucks her purse form a chair beside her, taking out a sticky note and a pencil. 

"I need you to go to the store and buy..." I hope that she doesn't say beer. "a bag of potatoes, steaks, and hot dogs, please." Wow, what did I do to earn a 'please' from her? I'll probably throw away the note. My memory is quite alright for a girl my age, which I am sixteen. "Take Zach with you too. He needs to get out of the house and get some fresh air." 

"Yes ma'am." I tell her, grab the paper, and wait for her to give me the money. She stands up and walks over to the fridge, where she reaches up and grabs a coffee container that if filled with cash, then takes a out a twenty dollar bill. She receives money from men she sleeps with, otherwise known as: prostitution.