Closure

Ch.2

     I had finally got home when it started to rain cats and dogs. I walked in the door as my mom stomped in. 

     "Why didn't you call me to pick you up?" My mom exclaimed.

     "I needed some air. Some time away from the house." I said with a hint of annoyance in my tone.

     "Well." My mom started, "Let me know next time. You could have gotten kidnaped."

     "I could have tried to do something stupid, is what you meant to say. I know you're not over what happened. That was a year ago, mom. Why would I want to hurt you like that again?" I told her as I looked at her deeply.

     She looked at me with hurt in her eyes. "Your depression is getting worse. If last year wasn't half as bad as this year then how do you expect me to believe you're okay now?" My mom became a huge worry wart since last year. I turned around and headed to my room, I stopped to rustle my little sisters hair and then carried on.

     Last year, before school had resumed from spring break, I had caused a traumatic event in our household. It all started when my stepdad got home. He was upset because of the guys at work treating him unfairly, which is completely understandable. I would be pissed off at the inequality I faced as well. He usually came home in the worst mood possible, but that day was different. My mom didn't see it right away so she got on his case about never being home to help out with my little sister, Juliana. They started arguing as I took my little sister into my room. Juliana and I waited there as I tried to remain calm while reading her a book. Honestly, I didn't know what he'd do because of how mad he was. Suddenly my stepdad burst into my room yelling 'AMBER! GET YOUR FUCKING ASS OUT HERE RIGHT NOW! WE'RE HAVING THIS DISCUSSION RIGHT NOW!' At the time I didn't know what he was getting so worked up about.

     I went out into the living room and my mom was sitting on the couch crying with a wad of tissue in her hand, damp from her tears, as my stepdad was angrily pacing the living room. 'Amber. ' My mom started, with a slight quiver in her voice 'We want to discuss your attitude problems.' My stepdad quickly added 'AND HOW THEY NEED TO FUCKING STOP BECAUSE IM SICK AND TIR-' 'God fucking damnit would you let me talk to my daughter?? Jesus. Okay, Amber we wanted to resol-' my mom started again but was soon interrupted by my stepdad a second time ' YOUR DAUGHTER?? She's my daughter as well, I deserve a say in this as much as you do.' Thats when I started to ignite my spark ' Your daughter??? who ever said I was YOUR DAUGHTER??? You didn't fucking conceive me. You weren't there when I was born. You weren't there for the start of a lot of things in my life. So don't fucking yell at my mom saying I'm your daughter. You aren't my fucking dad so stop trying to replace him.' I sternly scolded at my stepdad while staring him in the eyes. After I said my piece, I quickly turned away and stomped to my room as I slammed my door. 

     I rested against my door as I slid down, to where I found myself sitting and staring at the posters on my wall. I sat there for a good amount of time as I thought about how much my stepdad had fucked up my childhood already. When I was little he yelled at me because I questioned why he was eating with his hands, as I didn't understand his culture, I was three years old. We had just moved into the house, my cousin lived with us at the time until he moved out being sick of my stepdad and his attitude, We had a wii at the time. One summer evening, we were playing games on it and I tossed the remote on the couch that was less than a foot away. Suddenly my stepdad got mad at me saying that it shouldn't be thrown, he then quickly grabbed the remote and chucked it at the wall to where it broke into tiny pieces. I looked at all the shattered plastic, springs, tiny nuts and bolts. All scattered across the floor.

     I snapped back out of my thoughts and horrid memories to find a huge puddle of blood on the floor. I started to look up my leg and notice that I had four large gashes on my thighs and calfs. 'Where was the weapon or even culprit of this event?' I questioned in my head. I looked in my hands and found my knife I use for fishing 'There it is.' I thought. I sat there, numb, not giving a rats ass. I zoned out once again, in my own thoughts. The rest I remember from that night was just blurry lights and a fuzzy feeling all over. Now thinking about it I know it wasn't a very strong reason for me to try and kill myself, but my unhappiness was an ever growing pain that wouldn't stop even for a split second. A few days later I woke up in a hospital bed. Flowers around me, my family was there. Yet there was one person missing from that bunch. My dad. 

     My dad. My distanced, pot loving, missing link dad. Yes, my dad smokes a lot of weed and yes, my dad is very distanced. While I'm all the way in Sonoma county, he's living in San Diego working for a company that makes tools and machinery for growing Marijuana. I have never been against weed in any way nor have been judging of it, it was just a shock that these events that my dad partaken in have been going on for years yet I just found out about all of it less than a year ago. Don't get me wrong, I love my father very much. Him and I are very alike in many ways when it comes to humor, music taste, and types of food we like. However, I have always had the biggest grudge against him. He left Sonoma when I was in seventh grade. He slowly started moving down California to soon end up in San Diego. He now lives there with his very very young girlfriend, Jessica, and their twelve dogs. I know he's probably happy with his life right now. It's just a shame that I'm not a huge part of it. He constantly reminds me that all of the work he does with his sales is for me but, I think he only says that because he realized how much he fucked up. He fucked up real bad when he decided to not be a parent and not be there when I needed him. It breaks my heart to say but things haven't exactly changed, he's still never there for me. Just like how I was sitting in that hospital bed, without a father by my side.