alpha story part 3

chapter 2

The next morning, Sara woke up, and promptly vomited into the bucket beside her bed.

Her head pounding and face burning, she pushed herself up from the bed, and instantly got a head rush.

Oh god, she was dying.

She fell back onto her bed, woozy.

"note to self, ponds are good for swimming. Not for drinking." She groaned to herself and turned over and vomited in the bucket.

Her stomach upset, she clutched it groaning.

"what's wrong with you!" her mother demanded threw the closed door.

"mi sick, mom." She moaned, then vomited again.

"go somewhere else and do that shit! I'm trying to watch my show!" her mother called and banged the door with her fist.

"love you to, mom." She muttered, and stat up slowly. She threw her legs out of the bed, to fast.

She stayed in her spot for several minutes, trying to make the world stop spinning.

Once it was in its rightful place she stood up and got dressed.

She left her room and went downstairs, and out onto the street and proceeded to walk to the corner store for nausea pills.

Once she was home, she swallowed two then cleaned her bucket in the shower. Her mom was passed out on the couch, snoring away.

She went back into her room, applied her cream and laid down and hoped the pills would do their job.

She closed her eyes, but sleep alluded her.

She rolled back and forth on her bed, trying to find a comfortable spot, but not finding one.

Her eyes flew open and she growled in frustration. She pulled out a book from her night stand and tried reading that.

Her eyes got heavy, but she couldn't sleep.

She threw her arms up in frustration and sat up.

Sara got out of bed and started tiding up what little she had. It only took her half an hour to rearrange her entire wardrobe, books and bed.

She sat down again, holding her stomach and glaring at her pillows.

She laid back down and started to blink fast. Didn't work.

Moaning in frustration, she sat up and in an act of frustration, pushed her books to the floor.

Something white caught her attention, and she reached down to get it.

It was a picture that fell out of a book. She studied it and chills went down her body.

It was an old picture. She remembered the day they got it. Her father was still in her life, as well as her brother. Her mother wasn't the drunk she was now, she was beautiful. But she was also very bitter.

Her father had his arm wrapped around her shoulders, and in the picture, it looked like one squeeze he could cut off her air supply and kill her then and there. His lips held a cruel smirk, his brown hair parted and brushed just right. His suit looked immaculate. To his side was her mother, tall, and elegant, the model of what a good housewife/ trophy wife should aspire to be. Not a single hair out of place, her red dress fitting her body to perfection, perfect lipstick and make up.

Her brother was three years older, thirteen, and an identical smirk on his face as he had his arm wrapped around her waist. That's what it seemed like, anyways.