Laura has lived a life that was not worth fighting for-- yet she did anyways. Having her passion for art to keep her going, she struggled through uncaring parents, fake friendships, and undervalued love. Shortly after her family completely falls apa...
"So," Alessandra turns her head as she drives, looking at me at the back seat with Jamie. "How does it feel to be going to your first party?" She asks smugly.
Although I have been with the girls for about two months, Jack Boyd's party was the biggest of the year, and the thought of being there makes me nervous.
"Can't wait to be there," I lie smoothly. Lily, who was riding the passenger seat, turned and gave me a smile.
"You look hot, and everybody will love you. Even the public high school's coming over to join. But I wish I remember what my first party felt like" She says.
"Didn't you lose your virginity to a senior?" Alessandra snorts.
"At least I didn't finish a whole batch of weed brownies." Lily retorts back.
I force a laugh at their fight, hoping those things won't happen to me.
Although I thought she said those words for encouragement, they left a bad feeling in my stomach. I pull down the hem of my tank top, realizing just now how short it was, and how my ripped jeans feel like they're suffocating my legs.
Jamie suddenly hooks her arm around mine, and I look up to see her eager face. "Let's go!" She says.
Alessandra parks the car about two houses down from the party. It looks like it was already in full-swing. "You girls better tell me right away if you're fucking someone tonight, cause I ain't waiting on your asses."
The party was like any other typical high school party you see at the movies, and what you read about in books.
The feeling of people staring wasn't as bad as it used to do to me before, it still made me uncomfortable but I enjoyed it tonight. It didn't stop there, though. Jamie forced me into singing karaoke with her and next thing you know everyone was cheering us on to sing to the songs they were dancing to, and it felt amazing.
The last thing I remember though, was from the corner of my eyes, I saw Alessandra, sitting on top of the kitchen island, drinking with a menacing glare towards me, quickly masking it with a cheery smile and wave when she saw me looking.
She was always so good at that.
"Bianca, what are you doing here?" He slurs. Who the hell is Bianca? And then I remember how my dad got caught with a girl my age. Did he think I was her?
My dad looked worse than the drunk teenagers I've seen at parties. He looked threatening as well. He was making his way over to me, but he was too out of it to even walk in a straight line. He hit the kitchen island on his way over.
"No, Luis, it's Laura." I panic. I slowly make my way to the living room, trying to find something to protect myself with.
Luis laughs, looking genuinely confused. "Who's Laura?"
Hearing this, I let my anger get the best of me. "I'm your daughter!" I hiss, getting an empty vase. I hold on to it for dear life as I see him regain his balance more. I inch toward the stairs.
"Bianca, you're ridiculous." He snorts, waving his arms around the air. He grbbs the couch for support. "I don't have a daughter. I wouldn't even call her a daughter. She means nothing to me-"
His words sting and they linger in my heart, but my thoughts quickly disappear as I realize I haven't moved an inch and he grabs my arm. I let out a scream as he digs in nails into my skin.
"Daddy, please." I beg, tears spilling down my cheeks, blurring my vision.
He growls and licks his lips, his breath smelling like alcohol and smoke. "I like it when you call me tha-"
Without thinking I throw the vase I had straight to his head and he yells in pain as he uses both of his hands to cover his eyes. I run upstairs and lock my room as quickly as I could, pushing my night stand over the door as well.
I hear him yell and curse as he makes his way up the stairs. I desperately try to find my phone but the tears don't stop falling.
"What the hell you fucking bitch," He calls, pounding at my door. "You're going to pay for that!"
I flinch whenever I hear the nightstand jump from the door. I find my phone and run to the door, putting all my weight against it.
For what seemed like hours, the pounding finally stopped, and I hear him yelling still, his words muffled as he made his way down the stairs. When I thought it was safe, I go to my window and see him recklessly maneuver out of the driveway.
Although relief washes over me, I still care about him and I don't want him to get hurt. I wipe my face and take deep breaths as I call the police and tell them about my father.
"Hello? Yes, this is Elizabeth Ricci." Elizabeth replies as she runs her fingers through her hair. Her other hand holding a phone to her ear. She was pacing back and forth in the living room, while I cleaned up the broken vase and cleaned the blood marked on the floor and stairs.
She talks to the police officer politely, I can tell she was stressed and angry, but she hides it gracefully. I was getting used to it until she says goodbye and throws her phone on to the floor.
"Shit!" She yells, and sits on the couch and buries her face in her hands. I get up to see if she was okay, but I couldn't move. I didn't know how to comfort people. I jump in surprise as she quickly gets up again, back to her pacing.
"That idiot is going to be in jail for who knows how long. What am I supposed to tell his company? Our friends?" She talks to herself. "There's got to be a way around this." She mutters to herself.
Really? I think to myself. He tries to hurt me and he drives under the influence and you still want him out of jail? Even if he didn't learn his lesson?
Of course she wouldn't be upset that he wasn't okay. Or that I wasn't okay. She was upset about their reputation. She finally notices my presence and looks at my arm disgustingly.
"You should go to the hospital to get that checked," she orders. I forget all about my arm until she tells me about it. It wasn't that bad, just a few red marks and bruises protruding again my fair skin. I'm thankful it wasn't my left hand. That's my dominant hand. That's how I make art.
"I will," I lie. I didn't like being around her, so I lock myself up in my room again, something I have been doing lately this week. Being alone and surrounding the dark makes me want to cry again, so I sit on my bed and bury my face in my hands. I felt something on the back of my jean pocket and my mood immediately changes as I see the letter from my real family, and their present.
Although bad things that happen a whole lot, the feeling of having blessings like these overcome it all, I tell myself as I went to sleep after the long, traumatizing day.
. . . . . . .
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