Letters To The Moon

044 | What's Up With You

I let my eyes fall out of focus, both blurry images of my computer screen transposing themselves on top of each other. Google Docs sat in one window with the outline of my shitty essay while the illegal pdf of my BC textbook sat in the other. I had already tried bullying myself into doing something all morning, but all I'd accomplished was watching some random youtube videos, x-ing out the tab and berating myself. So here I was at two pm on a Saturday, painfully aware that while tonight my literal plan was getting fucked up at a house party, I was staring at my screen, doing nothing. I had a calc test online Monday and the essay due later that day in person. Both of which right now, I probably wouldn't do well on. And honestly, neither of them really mattered to me. I mean, as long as I saw them as distant things for the future, the impact of their advent hovered around zilch.

"Dakota, have you done your laundry yet?" Annoyed irritation bubbled up inside of me and I inhaled, closing my eyes. Liam finally left the house and me with the room to myself. For once.

"No."

"Come down and do it." Propping my head up on my hand I switched absently between tabs, eventually hitting the plus sign in the upper right hand corner.

"I'm working on something right now." All I had to type was a 'y' and safari auto filled the name, the website reloading itself.

No.

Stop it.

I clicked back on google docs.

"You said that two hours ago," She yelled up the stairs. God, was she always this irritating or was I just realizing it now? Fucking hovering over my shoulder and constantly chiding. And chiding and chiding. How did Liam live under this roof and not retaliate? Mom and Dad were so hands-off as long as I didn't fuck up school-wise or in front of their friends.

"You can spare twenty minutes. Now—I'm tried of waiting." A sound of frustration seethed between my teeth and I gritted them, swiping my fingers harshly across the keyboard, and smashing a line of gibberish into the doc. Mom didn't talked to me like this. Then I slammed it shut but immediately had to make sure I didn't break it. If they just made these things more durable no one would have to have that damn worry.

"Co—ming." Trudging down the stairs with the hamper in tow, I tried to collect myself as I made my way to the laundry room. As I entered, Clara eyed me before looking back down at whatever she was ironing on the board. I opened the washing machine and threw my crap into it.

"Only a slash of detergent and put it on—"

"Delicate, yup." I grabbed the detergent and slid open the slide, pouring it in as we sat in silence.

"So snippy." Though I wanted to, and I really wanted to, I didn't comment, sliding the thing shut and jabbing a finger on the power button, another on the delicate one. I almost felt something close to satisfaction at the fact that I could now leave and go back upstairs. Human interaction was annoying when I actually had no reason for it. I started for the doorway and could've stopped at her comment but chose not to.

"Why do you always spend so much time in that room?" Oh is this what we were doing? For fucking fuck's sake. 

"I don't." I kept moving through the doorway and into the hall, hoping that would put an end to it. Clara must've put the iron down because her reply and scoff sounded like it hadn't come from the laundry room.

"You go straight there when you come home from school and practically hibernate on the weekends. That's also where you're running to right now, isn't it?" Oh, she did think we were doing this. Wow. Someone give her a gold star.

"Yup, you're right." I kept all my words carefully neutral and hit the stairs, taking them two at a time. Of course, another set of feet hit them a second later.

"You know, you can tell me if anything's going on." Ooh. Fake sincerity. I stopped, knowing I needed to avoid setting her off. I then took a deep breath and turned around.

"I'm just tired." She gave me a look that mixed disbelief with concern and frustration. And then scoffed, of course.

"Jesus, kid. What do you have to be that tired about?" Nothing. Nothing at all. I turned and took the next step. And the next. And the next. Clara, apparently, also didn't like this. I was retreating. Couldn't she tell? Couldn't she just fucking let me?

"What's up with you lately? You don't talk much to any of us. You're so...irritable, and you hibernate in that room, staring at that god damn computer of yours for hours. Are you depressed or something? Are you mad at your mother?" Oh I was always angry at Mom, but that was just default. I felt....actually I didn't know how I felt besides irritated, no, pissed off. Invalidated, somehow.

"Just trouble sleeping sometimes." I breathed out, hitting the wooden floor at that moment and carrying on.

"Why." What. Why. What do you mean 'why'. Please, would you just leave me alone? What is your deal?

"Just am."

"That's not normal, wh—"

"Clara, it's fine, everything's fine. Would you just let me fucking be?" It slipped out way too strong, ugly, harsh, and clipped to be even close to warranted. I spun around, glancing between both of her eyes. That made it easier, yet it didn't keep me from seeing her expression. Yup, absolutely no way of pretending that was a joke.

The reality of what I'd just done sunk in but I couldn't find it within myself to apologize, mostly because I didn't want to say anything more that added to her suspicions. I honestly didn't even feel that bad. Logically, I should've. My irritation started slipping away.

I knew she couldn't do anything about it; she wasn't my parent, and I knew she knew that. She was also, too family value orientated to break that boundary. So I quickly left her annoyed, retreating form while I could and closed the door. I already had to spend a few of my precious forty-eight weekend hours with people tonight. The least I could get was a few alone, after waiting the whole week, right now as a break.

———
That's right. I'm fucking back bitches. I'm going to finish this rodeo we got 10 or so chapters left.

-Rebecca