Alone [G.D]

~3~

It's been exactly one week since Grayson started school at Richmond, and he is officially part of Claire and James's group. He hates me. He's disgusted in me, and now I'm back to being all alone, but that's not new for me, so it's okay, I guess. 
I sat in my room, with the window open, as I listened to the patter of the rain onto the roof. The noise was calming, as I held a towel over my wrist. I made another cut, and this one was big. I didn't mean for it to be so huge, but I was hurting. Emotionally. 
The doorbell rang, and I quickly sat up. I knew my mom wasn't going to answer it, so I had to. I rolled down my sleeve, and rushed downstairs. I took in a deep breath, before opening the door.
It was Grayson. Shit.
"My mom told me to give this to your family. It's an invitation to dinner tonight at our house." He says, as he awkwardly scratched his neck.

"No thank you." I say quickly, as I try to close the door, but he stops me.
"Your arm." Grayson says, as he pushes the door open again, and I look at my arm.
The blood was bleeding through the blue sleeve of my shirt. "It's paint. I was painting something for my room." I lie, as I try to act casual, but my heart was racing.
If he found out I was cutting, he would tell the whole school, and no one at school knew. It was my dirty secret.
"But it looks like blood." He tries to reach for my arm, and I take a step back.
"Don't touch me, you'll get a disease, remember?" I say, as a lump formed in my throat.
"Madison, just come to the dinner with your family." Grayson says, as he holds out the invitation.
"My mom can't go." I lie. "She's sick."

"Well, then how about you and your dad?"
I feel my chest tighten at the mention of my dad. I miss him, so much. I miss the family I used to have. "My dad is gone."
"Well, when is he coming back? My dad wants to meet him." Grayson says, still holding the invite out to me.
"No, I mean, he's gone, as in deceased." I mumble, as my eyes well up in tears.
Don't be weak in front of him. Don't. He'll tease you.
"I'm sorry." He says, and I almost laugh.
"No, you're not." I say harshly. "You're just like everyone else, now bye." I say, and I push the door closed.
A tear slips down my cheek, and the invitation comes through the little mail opening on the door. I leave it on the ground, as more tears slide down my face. I hold my chest, as I gasp for air. The pain in my chest is overwhelming. 

"You are going to that dinner." My mom says to me, as we sit on the couch watching TV.
"Why? That kid hates me." I whine, as I press my hands against my temples.
"I doubt he hates you. You think everyone hates you. Stop playing the victim for once." She spats, as she taps the end of her cigarette onto the astray next to her.

"Mom, you don't understand. He treats me like I'm a piece of gum stuck to his shoe." I say, feeling my frustration heighten.  
"If you go I'll buy you a new phone." She says, and I look at her wide eyed.
"We don't have the money to afford it. We barely have enough money to pay our taxes." I shake my head in disbelief, as I lean back against the couch.
"We actually have one-hundred thousand dollars stocked away in the bank."
It felt like someone took all the air out of the room, and my mouth fell open. "How? And why am I still working like three shifts then?" I ask, as I get more frustrated that she's been hiding this money from me.
"Your dad had life insurance, and now we have the money he had in his bank, because he wrote our names down to receive all his money."My mom says, as if this was some casual conversation. "And I'm having you work three shifts, so we can pay the taxes and get food, without using the money from the bank, but now that you know, you can just take one shift." She says, as she puts her used cigarette down in the astray.
"But that money might go by quick." I look at the astray, as smoke rises from it.
"I got a job, okay? Now don't worry about anything except this dinner." She says, as she gets up from the couch. "Come on, I have some dresses you can wear." 
I follow her up the stairs and to her room, which is a few doors down from mine. We walk in, and its surprisingly spotless, but the smell of smoke is more prominent in here. She walks to her closet, and swings open the door carelessly. I wait by her bed, as I hear her ruffle through her clothes. 
Then, she comes out with at least six dresses slung over her arm. "Which do you prefer, long or short sleeve?" She asks.
"Long." I quickly reply, and she takes two dresses out from the pile, and puts them back into the closet.
"Okay, these four are all I have that are long sleeve." She lays each dress out on the floor.