Nothing could've prepared me for what I learned over the weekend. Dad came home and told me about it, though. . .I could tell that he wasn't all the way transparent with me. Thanks to that, the weekend was a bust. Dad just sat around and did nothing, while I did the same. I only wondered how my mom was doing. I wasn't at all concerned about school starting back up again.
I might check up on her after school today, but that's a maybe—what if what dad said was true. What if I won't be able to handle myself when I see her limp in a hospital bed?
I just made myself sick. . .what a great start to the morning.
~*~
You woke up a quarter after six in the morning. Needless to say, it was a drag. You felt horrible, thanks to your late night thoughts about your mother, you were barely able to get any sleep. You just wanted to crawl back in your bed and fall into an endless slumber. Never wanting to wake up, and to forget about all your problems with the world. But, you went through with it anyways. You got up, got dressed, did whatever else you needed to do upstairs and slowly made you're way down stairs with your bag. You groaned once the soles of your shoes made contact with the wooden floor below the stairs. You yawned, to be honest, you were used to not getting up at such an early hour.
After you did that, you placed the other strap of your book bag onto your shoulder and walked into the kitchen. You expected the smell of coffee waft over you once you neared the door, but you didn't. It was odd. . .your father always makes coffee in the morning. You were a bit hesitate on entering the kitchen, hoping that your thoughts of your father's state of being would be false. . .but you were wrong once again.
It didn't really surprise you when you saw him like this, but the sight made you widen your eyes nonetheless. Seeing him slumped over on the kitchen's island with a bottle of whisky in hand would make any child hesitate if their parent. You swallowed the lump in your throat and neared the counter to your left to grab a piece of bread and make toast. As soon as you popped the sliced bread into the toaster slot and pushed the lever down, your father had awoken. He had dark bags under his eyes, and in general, he looked a mess.
"Hey, dad." You say with a low voice.
"Hey there, kiddo." He said tiredly.
"Aren't you gonna get ready for work?" You asked him, to which he grumbled.
"What's it matter to you?!" He snapped, clearly still under the influence. You held your breath and bit your tongue to make sure you didn't say anything you would regret later. Your father seemed to notice and instead, felt bad for what he said to you.
"I'm sorry, kiddo. I shouldn't have raised my voice like that." He apologized, his true self showing through at the moment.
"It's okay." You mumbled. He hummed and looked over at the large bottle containing the alcoholic beverage. His eyes glistened, as if they were watery and ready to spill with tears.
But he refrained.
"It's just been—rough. I'll get to it, don't worry." He said trying to reassure his only child. Your smile was small, but it got your mood across to him, and just then, your toast was done. You grabbed the warm slice of bread and bit into it, about ready to walk out the door.
"Where are you going?" Your father said, a bit spitefully. You turned around and answered him with a quiet voice.
"School." You say.
