(CANCELLED) Secrets Of The Father

1

7 years later.

"Ophelia!"

I'm starting to hate my own name. That happens overtime when it's being constantly screamed at you. Especially in the morning. Sighing in annoyance, I practically drag myself out of bed. My phone says it's only 9am. It's way too early to be up on a Saturday morning.

I quickly flee my bedroom to avoid an argument for taking too long to answer. Mother is waiting outside my bedroom, tapping her foot impatiently. She's still in last nights' tight black dress. The makeup she wore, which looked immaculate in my opinion, is now a smeared, sloppy mess. The waves in her ginger hair that I inherited a result of last night's spiral curls. Her profession requires he to dress like this. Mother thinks I'm some naive child that doesn't know why she leaves all hours of the night wearing risqué clothing. She probably doesn't think the word prostitute is in my vocabulary.

"Yes?"

"We need some things from the store." She fishes a few crumbled dollar bills from her bra and holds them out to me.

I hesitate to take them. Who knows what could be on this money.

"Want me to make a store run?"

It's an obvious question. Mother places a hand on her hip and stares at me blankly.

"Yes. Make sure to get eggs, milk and whatever else you need for school and stuff. That should cover it." She struts down the hall in the direction of her room. It's two hundred dollar bills. That's more than enough.

Due to the fall weather rolling in, I slip on a warm beige sweater over a pair of thick leggings. My old boots cover up the holes in the hem of my leggings. I'd use the extra money to buy new clothes but mother never lets me keep the change. Each time I ask for it she tells me that she has to use it to pay bills.

I stand in front of the mirror, trying my hardest to tame the thick mass of red hair on my head. After my last hair tie snaps in the mist of my trying to force it into a ponytail, I give up.

"Forget it," I grunt.

The next best option? A hat. I look around for my old black baseball cap. I check my entire room and it's no where to be found. Only one other person could have it.

I make my across the hall and pound my fist on James's door. He's my older brother aka the spawn of Satan himself.

"What?" James shouts through the door in a tired voice.

"Give me my hat, James. I need it."

No response. I swear talking to him is like talking to this door.

"James!"

"Hold on, Jesus!"

Finally, he emerges in the doorway with the hat in hand. I glare at him as I snatch my hat from him before pushing at his bare chest angrily. I try my hardest to act as if his hard chest didn't hurt my hand.

"Stop taking my stuff without asking," I demand.

"It's a hat, O. Not your fucking tooth brush," he rasps in his tired voice, his eyes barley opening.