Once upon a time, a girl made a vow never to give her heart to someone undeserving . . . for the sake of her happiness and heartbreak.
Lydia Hayes has had enough grief in her life. After the death of her mother, she was torn. As for her father, he...
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Happiness is expensive. It comes at such a cost. It can be broken, tampered with and exchanged for something better.
My happiness has ceased to exist the moment my parents told my brother and I they didn't love each other the way they use to. Yet, they still lived in the same household trying to prove we're still a family.
One day, my father brought home a woman and decided to sleep with her while my brother and I were home. He didn't know that of course . . . seeing as though he was boozed and delirious.
When our mother returned home from work and heard their cries of pleasure, she lost it. The screaming, yelling and commotion was deafening to my ears.
That night I vowed I would never love, given it doesn't last. My heart is too pure to be sold then crushed within a nanosecond. I will never give my heart to someone that will play with it like a hacky sack.
Months later, my dad, brother and I wanted to take a trip to the coast. My mom insisted that she stayed behind for the sake of space. We had a grand time that day, kicking up white sand grains on the beach and eating dole pineapple whip, but the fun ended when we returned home. The image of my mother hanging limp off the wooden ceiling beams is etched into my memory for eternity.
As my brother and I grieved for months on end, our father remarried to the same bimbo he slept with when mother caught him.
It was then that I realized that our father was nothing but an asshole. He went from acting like a father to a stranger with a snap of his itchy fingers.
Him and our step mother decided to move. To leave the house that we've made so many memories in. Where the pencil markings from my height remains etched in the doorway. Where the tiny hand prints of my brother and I are permanently stained in the concrete steps of our front porch.
The house we grew up in.
So here we are now. My brother and I sit in the back seat of our fathers grey Jeep while our step mom of five months complains about her chipped nail.
I watch as our house grows farther from the naked eye. My whole life remains locked away behind the closed front door. Nothing will ever be the same.
A warm pressure on my hand pulls me away from the sadness that threatens to water my eyes. My brother, Daniel, has my hand tightly in his. His eyes don't falter from his window, but I know he needs me to be there for him just as much as I do. I rub my thumb over his palm as we stare out of our windows.
Daniel and I have no idea where we're going. The screech of our step mom, Gina, telling us to pack our shit and meet at the front door in an hour is the only evidence of our flee.
