Four separate lives.

Packing Day #1

Skylar Dottie
"Don't forget to pack your 'just in case' phone, sweetie!" Mom yelled from the other side of my pink door.

I giggled, "okay mom."

There were so many shoes to pack, that I just bought more and kept them boxed so I could easily pack them. Stupid, I know.

The smell of freshly baked croissants filled my nostrils and I assumed Parker, my maid cooked those up this morning as my 'leaving' breakfast.

I'm going off for college and this is my last morning here. That's a whole lot of new commitment, new boundaries and new wardrobes to get used to.

"Okay, honey I'm coming in." Mom said before she pushed into my room.

She glanced at all the boxes with tears in her eyes, then she looked up at me.

I paced over to her, careful not to step too hard on my three inch heels and gave her a big hug.

"Oh darling, your father and I are really gonna miss you!" she whispered, squeezing me tighter.

"I'll miss you guys too," I said as I pulled away, "where are the babies?"

Mom has two younger kids, my baby brother and sister. The only difference between us, is that they don't have a clue they are rich.

"In their nurseries," she said, "I'll go get them."

She turned off and exited my big room.

The only thing I'm worried about, is if these dorms are just my size. There is no way I'm sleeping in a room that can't hold all of my shoes, bags and jewelry. And there is no way I'm sharing a dorm.

Gio Davidson
The smell of liquor owned my room, as I packed my last bag. Dad and mom were at it again this morning, he lost his cool and now he's drinking again. He might as well just commit suicide.

"You finished packing yet, boy?" he yelled from the living room.

I didn't bother answering, since he clearly doesn't see me downstairs saying I'm finished. Common sense, old man.

"Did you hear me?" he yelled again.

I got annoyed this time.

"Yes! I did!" I yelled back.

He's always hitting my nerves when he opens that stink, alcohol scented mouth of his.

I pushed a pack of weed into my back pocket and I pushed a pack of cigarettes into my bag, just in case I ran out of the good stuff.

As I grabbed for the door, I remembered something.

My lighter. Can't forget that.

I came downstairs to meet mom attempting to cook, but failing miserably. Pathetic.

Dad sat on the sofa and drank the remaining drips of alcohol in the bottle he was supposed to be done with a long time ago.

"Dad, come on." I said, grabbing the bottle from his hand and throwing it into the trash.

He glared at me as he grabbed his keys, "let's go."

I nodded quietly as mom stared off into space with a blank expression.

She needs a mental hospital, and even that can't help her. If she wants to do drugs, then good for her. I'd be damned if I did it though. I'm already a pothead, so what's the point in drugs.

I barely made out a smile at her before closing the door and heading to dad's truck.

As soon as I got in, he sped off.

As dad drove down the long road, I pulled out my cigarette pack and lit one to keep me good before I get to the college.

I still don't know how I got in. Yeah, I'm smart, but I'm always high. I just hope they don't have searches on the daily.