Dear Guardian Angel,

Part 1

October 30th

Dear Guardian Angel,

It was a tough day today, bottles crashed to the floor, the sky was dim, and everyone was in a rotten mood. Father Dearest began his day with the downing of a glass filled to the brim of "water". As the booze set into his system, his rage grew. I just couldn't do anything right, big surprise. I wasn't bringing him the remote fast enough, I was chewing my breakfast too loud, I stomped away too soon, it just wasn't good enough. I continued my day doing all the chores around the house. You would think with all this money sitting in the bank, we would pay someone to do this for us. Of course not. Why would he want to give up, even a small percent of, our money when my slave labor was free? I almost thought that it was looking up when Father Dearest came in to kitchen with an empty lunch plate. It was mistaken; apparently I had not seasoned it enough. He continued to explain how he had to endure such an awful meal. After that "horrendous" meal, he left glass in hand, up to his office. I left the rest of my day for painting in my room. It was lovely, the ocean had long periods of time where it was still, but before too long the crash of the waves would dance into my ears. I always loved living by the beach. It was the one part of life that I actually liked. Once I had made it through a forth of my process of art, Father Dearest interrupted with a drunken gaze in his eyes. He walked over to me, placed his hand on my shoulder and whispered repulsive things into my ear. As I looked at the painting in front of me, I knew I needed to get him away from it. This was my best piece and the paint was still wet, one touch could ruin it. I slowly stood up, grabbed his hand and led him to the bench at the end of my bed. There was no reasoning with such a drunken man. I knew what he wanted. I wasn't about to give it to him, but once again his "methods of persuasions" gave me no choice. Hours later, he finally wakes again. I'm already showered and dressed in my little sun dress, painting away at my piece. I was almost half way done, and it was perfection. He got up and walked out slamming the door behind him. I decided that I was done for the day and retired to my huge fuzzy purple bean bag chair placed at the opposite end of my bedroom from my bed. I presided here often. My bed was filled with horror, that was no place to dream. -Brooke<3

November 1st

Dear Guardian Angel,

Everyone is so incredibly FAKE. School is the collection of all these fake people, the teachers, the students, even the administration board. They just want me there for the publicity. I'm not famous, but who doesn't want a billionaire's daughter at their school? Besides that the teachers all put you up to such a high standard, and this is coming from the girl with the highest GPA in the entire school. I was a prize. So then the question is, what do I have to complain about? I wasn't a bad student. I wasn't typically an unliked person, unless they were jealous of something that I did have. No one knows my story though. They say that the only people who know your story are those who are in it, but what if no one is truly in it. I don't have a long list of friends that insist on hanging out every weekend. I don't have someone that gossips to me. I don't have a family that even cares. So what do they have to be jealous of? I would happily trade my life with anyone, but my stupid conscience gets in the way. How could I wish this on someone else? No matter how awful of a person they are, they can't be so bad that they deserve this. So why did I do to deserve this? Some things are never answered, and I have come to terms with that. Okay, maybe everyone isn't as fake as I portray, but that doesn't mean all of them are real either. I'm just like them. I'm jealous. They don't come home to a drunk "father", or the lack of a mother. Maybe they do though. I feel bad for them if they do. Maybe we could be friends. Maybe you would get me. -Brooke<3

November 3rd

Dear Guardian Angel,

We have a new student in class today. He's a tall, brunette with gorgeous eyes, long flowing hair, perfectly toned muscles, and the absolute worst personality ever. He doesn't talk to anyone. He doesn't answer questions when he is asked. Apparently he was dragged here from a boarding school, but that's all we could pry out of his mouth. The school couldn't take him anymore so they expelled him, but that's just my guess. He's a mystery. Rumors are spreading like wild fire. "He's super rich" "He's dirt poor" "He listens to scary screaming music" "He's not enough of a man to admit that he listens to Justin Bieber". No one really knows anything apparently. Too bad that doesn't change anything going on at home. Father Dearest was irritable today. Apparently someone had mismarked the stocks, and we didn't make an extra thousand dollars. That's what? 0.0000001% of our total amount of money we make in a week? I made sure that everything that I had prepared for Father Dearest was as perfect as prefect could be. Just before he went to bed, he wanted me to cheer him up. What was I supposed to do? Say no? Ha. I've done that before. Not so easy. It is just more painful for me in the end. Which brings me to now, I'm surprisingly in a better mood than normal.-Brooke<3

November 5th

Dear Guardian Angel,

So we changed seats in life class today. Basically that class we just build our morals and our mental strength. we become "families". It is the biggest blow off class ever. I am privileged enough to sit next to the new kid now. Luckily I learned his name in our "ice breaker". This mystery man's name is Ryder. We were told to learn interesting things about each other, write them down, and rip them up to represent trust. I told him that over the summer I got featured in the National Artistic Prodigies Galla? To my dismay he told me that he was there too, but in a different category. I was in the portrait and physical medium division, while he was in the musical renditions division. He told me about how he had been classically trained in guitar, piano, and percussion for his childhood, but he is wanting to break out and go more modern music. Two years ago he had made a garage band with his friends, but since he moved in with his mom, he can't find a place to practice. To be nice, not thinking that he was going to accept my offer, I told him that he could practice at my house, but he actually accepted. I gave him my address and he said he would be over tomorrow to "scope" out the place before he drags all him instruments over. -Brooke<3