From my position leaned up against the hood of the old truck, I stare at the dark house in front of me.
This might be where I live, but this isn't my home. And the man inside, he might be my "guardian", but he's not my dad.
I hate this place. I hate the unkept bushes in the front. I hate the green shutters. I hate the wooden door. But most of all I hate what happens inside.
I can feel the anger growing and expanding under my skin, so I breathe in deeply and look up at the sky.
Lightning cracks like a whip overhead, and thunder echoes through the sticky air. I can smell the rain and I know that there is about to be a downpour, but my feet stay planted in place.
The first drop hits my cheek. A second and third land on my forehead.
Maybe I'm finally alright.
Then sky opens up and fat, heavy drops of water are soaking my clothes and hair.
There's black and there's white and then there's red.
Blood.
It's everywhere, on the ground, on the truck, on me. No matter how hard I scrub my hands and my arms, there's only more.
I hear someone screaming, and it's only when my throat begins to scratch and itch that I realize it's me.
"Caz."
The bright crimson begins to fade.
"Cassandra!" A voice yells. Someone is shaking me.
Blake is kneeling in front of me, concern written across his face and I'm sitting on the hard ground, my back still pressed against the truck.
He takes my wrists gently and rotates my arms until I see that I have fierce, red scratch marks down them.
"What happened?" He asks softly.
I look towards the house. Still dark.
"Caz talk to me."
We make eye contact and I can tell that he's reading me. He'll be ready to tell me that I'm lying as soon as I speak.
"I'm fine." I say softly, and look down at the ground.
It's raining harder now, and I've started shivering from the cold.
I hear him sigh. "Let's go inside."
I don't want to. I'd rather sleep in the truck. But Blake pulls me to my feet and we walk inside together.
"I won't let him hurt you, I promise." He says firmly as we take our shoes off right inside the door.
It's like a ritual. Him repeating those words. Him promising me something that he has no control over.
I hear nails clacking across the floor and then a warm, wet nose is shoved into my waiting hands.
"Hi Greg." I greet the fluffy, old dog and manage a small smile.
"I missed you too." I laugh weakly and crouch down to rub him behind the ears.
Blake's already walking away, and hating the feeling of being left behind, I follow him.
The putrid smell of alcohol and body odor reaches my nostrils and I crinkle my nose up. Voices from the T.V drone on as we creep down the short hallway into the living room. It's dark, but the light from the screen illuminates a figure passed out on the couch.
A jolt of relief shoots through me, managing to calm my nerves for a minute.
It doesn't last long though. As if he senses our presence, Andy sits up and rubs his eyes before looking in our direction.
I freeze.
No one says anything for a moment and I say a silent prayer that he's intoxicated to the point of sheer idiocy, but I know that's a far shot.
He stands up and wobbles a bit. Our eyes meet and I feel sick to my stomach.
"Why are you kids back so late?" His words are a drunken slur.
"We were at Sal's." Blake answers.
Another ritual. It's the same thing every night.
Andy grapples clumsily across coffee table and grabs a half empty beer bottle.
Well, he's not that drunk.
"Every night I tell you damn kids the same thing. Get back before ten o'clock." He growls and points an unsteady finger at the clock hanging above the door and squints to try and read the numbers.
I slowly inch to my left until my shoulder is rubbing against Blake's arm. Safe.
Andy stumbles closer.
"I never should have taken you in, girl. All you've done is cost me time and money." He swings his arm around and knocks several already chipped and broken pictures off of the book shelf next to me. "I need you working, and you can't work when you're tuckered out from doing God knows what in the middle of the night."
He's so close now that I can smell his breath and see the specks of brown in his eyes.
I try to remember the man he was this morning and I try to picture the man he'll be tomorrow morning, after he's downed a couple of aspirin and gotten his coffee. Better. But I can't. All I can see is the creature in front of me.
I feel heat behind my eyes, and my vision becomes blurry from tears that threaten to escape.
"Go to our room." Blake says simply, and pushes me behind him.
He doesn't have to repeat himself. I scramble away and entering our room, lean against the door until I can't anymore. Then I slide down until I'm sitting on the floor and my arms are wrapped around my legs.
I'm holding myself together.
Alone.
Every night I promise myself that I won't cry. But somewhere between the tight grip that loneliness has on my heart and holding myself together the whole day, I finally break and crack. Almost every night I cry until I can't anymore.
The sobs rack my body and hurt my chest, but they bring a sense of calm that only comes after you're completely empty.
Eventually I stand up and go to the bathroom where I wash the salty streaks from my face and change into one of Dad's t-shirts. I press my nose to the soft material, and if I try hard enough, I can remember what he smelled like. Linen and mint. Happiness and light.
I don't know how long it is before I finally drift off into panic stricken darkness, but I do know what my last thought is.
Maybe tomorrow will be better.
