Unwritten

The Father's Idiocy

When I got home I instantly notice two things. One, my car was in the driveway and two, there was a huge scratch on the driver's side that had never been there before. And I would know because I make time to detail my car once every week.

I walk into my house attempting peace of mind; I'm sure there was steam coming out of my ears. I try everything I can think of to calm myself down. Although, none of my feeble attempts at contentment work per usual. I go inside with the mind-set that I will take whatever is thrown at me and will give my mom a simple, non-emotional reply. I'll apologize for my mistakes and stay out of her way. But knowing me, it will never go down that way. It will be a bloodbath.

I stumble up the steps towards the living room, tripping over my puppy that is following me up. After gathering myself, I continue to the landing and up the next set of steps. Halfway up, I feel a hand smack my back and pull me backwards by my shirt. My heart drops out of my chest as I fall down the steps. Please don't get hurt. Once the tumbling is over, I sit up to assess the damage. It's not too bad but I'll have a bruise on my ass later. There is no one around me who could have pulled me. "Lina, pup, did you do it?" My Golden Retriever looks up at me in response to her name being called. I shrug off the incident. I probably just got my jacket caught on the stairwell, or something.

The door to the living room upstairs opened. "How long have you been home?" My mom steps out into the hallway and looks down to me, who unfortunately for my sake, is still on the floor; to my mom it most likely looks as if I was just playing with the dog.

"I just got home. I fell down the steps." She huffs and walks back into the living room, jerking her head to signify that I need to follow her. She does that when she doesn't want anyone to hear her scold me. I follow her into the living room with my head down.

"You have no priorities do you?" Uhm... Excuse me? What does that mean? My mom is sitting on the couch looking at me waiting for a response.

"What do you mean?" I speak calmly but in my head I'm yelling at her as loud as a train horn when you're standing right next to the tracks.

She looks at me like I am stupid and finally tells me what she means. "You need to start telling us your schedule. You're such an irresponsible child. If it were me, my parents would make me walk home." She unloads her frustration, making me feel like the bad guy. "You're always doing things you aren't supposed to. You smoke. You don't do your chores and-" I'm stopping her right there.

"I smoke??? Really?? When? When have I smoked Mom? Please tell me." I say all of this pointedly looking at a pack of cigarettes and to baby Lance, who is playing with said pack, and back to my mom. "I have never smoked ever and as for the chores-in case you haven't noticed- I DON'T HAVE TIME. I go to work at four in the morning." I do smoke but if she finds out, I will never be able to leave this abusive house. Much less, have anything accept a bed and walls to stare at in my bedroom. Not even a door; they'll take that off the hinges.

"I go to school. I come home to clean up yours and Dad's dishes and trash that are always on the counter in the hallway. Which is disgusting, by the way. Then, after that, I watch Lance until six at night. Finally, I do my homework until eight, take a shower eat and then go to bed. I do not have a single moment to myself unless you are gone on camping trips to escape the evil of the world. Do not give me that bullshit." I came inside with the mindset I'd be calm and take it but like I always do, I open my mouth.

"You have a job?" Of course that's the only thing that she'd pick out of that whole spew. Shit; her face is really red. She's pissed. "Why didn't you tell me?" She knows why I didn't tell her. She wants me to open my mouth again.

"Why do you think grandma hasn't asked you to help pay the bills? I've been paying them so you don't complain all the fucking time." I ask her with resentment in my voice. "I didn't tell you because I knew you wouldn't let me keep my hard earned money. Don't say you would have because you wouldn't. Dad, I know you're back there listening." I say looking to his work space in the back of the room. He's been quiet since I came in. "Do not ever touch my car again. I paid for that shit with my own money. I want the money to repair that damage by the end of the week or I'm making a claim and I'll force you to pay it. I'm done with you two" With that I walk out.