A Lesbian Love Story

3

I ran out of ideas on what to draw and put my notebook away. I saw Cody walking back over to me and I headed his way.

"Thanks." I said, taking Rico's leash.

"No problem. I'll cya Wednesday." He said. I smacked his arm.

"You forgot to study for the Physics test, didn't you." I said. He smirked and nodded. I sighed and shook my head. "Get better soon." I said. I started walking away. I started walking on the path. I sat on a bench and go on my phone. I looked up and saw Elena headed my way. Ugh. She may be pretty but I don't like her. She's a blonde, but her hair is not that light. She has blue eyes as well and is maybe an inch shorter than me. She smiled at me.

"You're Jordan...right?" She asked.

"Yeah." I said.. "And you're Elena." I didn't ask who she was. I'm not stupid.

"Yep." She said.

"So uh, how do you like it here so far?" I asked.

"It's nice. My cousin told me there were a lot of pretty girls at our school and she was right." Oh shit. She's not straight.

"Yeah, there are." Like Amber. "Who's your cousin?" I asked.

"Amber Johnson." Oh fuck.

"Ah." I said. So I didn't need to hate her.

"What're you listening to?" She asked.

"Black Veil Brides." I said.

"Never listened to them before. My cousin has though." She said. "Oh shit. Forget I ever said that." Amber likes Black Veil Brides? Seriously?

"It's fine." I laughed a bit. "I can keep a secret."

"Good because if that got around town, she'd kill me." She said.

"Makes sense." I said. She raised an eyebrow.

"Why?" She asked.

"Well she's all popular, nice, happy, not emo and pretty-" Oh shit. "Sorry. Forget that." I said.

"No no it's totally fine. If we weren't related and she was more my type I'd totally date her. Hope that didn't come out as weird to you as it did to me." She said.

"It's fine." I said. She blushed. Does she like me or something? I hope not. I'm not into shy outsiders. My type is the complete opposite of me.

"Anyways. I should get going." She blushed and pulled out a crumbled piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me. "Nice talking to you."

"You too." She walked away. I looked at the paper and opened it up. Her phone number was written on the paper. You have got to be fucking kidding me.

I walked into my house and immediately was greeted by the stench of beer, cigarettes, and vomit. I sighed as I gently placed my book bag on the ground and walked into the living room. My mother was passed out on the couch with empty bottles of beer on the coffee table. One was knocked over. There was a cigarette in the ash tray and vomit on my mother. She was still in her work clothes; a white dress shirt and a black pantsuit. Her heels were on the floor. I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a towel before running it under the hot sink water. I returned to the living room and began cleaning the vomit off of the couch. My mother groaned.

"Fuck off!" She grunted.

"I'm trying to help you." I replied as I helped her sit up. I stood up and rushed into the laundry room since it was my obligation to help her. It prevented me from getting beaten for no reason. I grabbed my mother a pair of clean pajamas and rushed out and to the living room. I handed her the clothes and she snatched them from me. I turned away as she began to undress. She was gonna need water. I walked to the kitchen and opened the fridge.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She snapped.

"Getting you water..." I said as I grabbed her a water bottle and shut the fridge. No response. I walked back to the living room and handed her the water and picked up her soiled clothes off of the floor before going to the laundry room. I side as I placed her blazer and pants in the dry cleaning bin and placed her soiled shirt on the washing machine. I began to spray it with detergent and wipe the vomit off with paper towels. Disgusting. I threw out the paper towels and sprayed bleach on the shirt before leaving the room and shutting the door.

"You better start cooking me dinner." My mother barked.

"I will. Is meatloaf okay?" I asked.

"No, meatloaf is not okay!" She shouted as she stood up and walked over to me. She clenched her fists and drove one into my neck. I stumbled back and choked on air. I turned to her as I breathed heavily.

"Lasagna? Beef stew? Spaghetti?" I offered.

"Lasagna will do." She stated. I walked into the kitchen and washed my hands before gathering all the ingredients. I cold feel my mother's cold, dead stare at the back of my head. I began chopping the onions and dumbing them into a bowl. Cooking was a natural talent for me, I picked up cooking at a young age from my father and I had to cook five or six times a week for my mother. It was a useless talent for me, but very useful for my mother and brother. Zac would get home late from practice or games and have a hot meal waiting for him every night. My mother did nothing; I did all the cooking, cleaning, and laundry. But I never went to the grocery store, my mother would tell me what she wanted for each week and I would make a list and she or Zac would go. That's how it always worked. Ever since I was eight it's been the same way. But when my father was home for extended periods of time, my mom would take over everything for me; which was great. Except my father has been gone for six months. And won't be back soon.