Just My Luck

No More

The rest of the day was pretty awkward, and Charity was dreading going home. With a sigh, she took a step out the door.

For the first time in a long time, there was a refreshing dampness to the air outside. A chill ran up her back, a mixture of anxiety and fear churning in her stomach.

She stopped in front of her house, contemplating all her options. As if she had a sign written on her forehead, her father stood, barefoot on the porch, looking down at her.

"I'm sorry." He said. She nodded, and they both walked inside without any words leaving their mouthes.

"I'm sorry too." She said, daring herself to look into his big eyes.

"Don't mention it kid." He smiled hesitantly, but cringed when he saw the brand new bruises lining her arms.

"Well, it could've been worse right?" She awkwardly smiled.

"Geez Charity, I just don't know how you always manage to get yourself into these situations." He said, sweeping his hand through his thick hair.

"Like mother like daughter I guess." She mumbled staring at the crack in The linoleum floor. They both went silent, and he moved his chair with a long screech, before passing by.

"Well, that could've gone worse too eh?" She mumbled once again. She was trying to stay optimistic, but the light at the end of the tunnel seemed to be dimming by the minute. With a heavy breath, she trudged to her room, before closing the door.

A burst of emotion caught her off guard. It was so strong, she didn't even know she had it in her. She grabbed on to the edge of the chipped old nightstand, trying to keep her balance. Tiny gasps were all she could manage, as her head started to pound.

Her body jerked forward, and she fell onto the bed, sobs overcoming her. They were quiet sobs, abruptly muffled by her cotton pillowcase, but ever present. Her chest moved in pain while her cheeks became sticky with sorrow and anger.

She was breaking. Slowly but surely, a demon in the core of her being was threatening to pull her in. She rolled onto her back, letting, tears slip along the side of her temple, towards her ears, soaking into her pillow.

"Enough!" She Growled, grabbing her wrist. Her breath began to steady itself, just slightly. She hiccuped, and pressed her eyes shut, although a few tears managed to pass.

"Please," she whispered, her voice dry and raspy, "please. I don't know what to do. I'm so tired. I can't do this anymore."

She stayed there, and listened to the buzz of a fly resting gently on her forearm. She didn't swat at it, but absorbed the calming sensation of its vibrating lullaby.

"Mom? If your listening, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin your life. Or Dad's. But, I don't know what to do. Help me mom."

She stayed silent. Not that she believed that this would change anything, only hoping for peace of mind. With a sore throat, she sat up, staring at the empty street.

"I know what I need to do. I just don't know if I can do it." She took the old journal, and flipped to a brand new page. Her hand moved furiously, etching her plan into stone.

The party. Tomorrow. That was her one chance.

Grabbing her bag, she placed her journal in it, as well as a Bobbi pin, a dime and a fork. She was too tired to call the others, but when she closed her eyes, she imagined that everything had fallen into place deliciously.

When she woke up, the sky was a pale pink and orange, so it wasn't morning just yet. She could hear the little snores of her father down the hall in the empty house.

Grabbing everything she had, she stuffed it into her already over flowing bag. She didn't have a cell phone, but she probably wouldn't need one for this anyway.

When looking in the mirror, she knew that she would need to change. She applied a thick coat of concealer, as an attempt to covers the lavender tint under her eyes. After religiously applying her mother's scarlet lipstick, she added mascara, and anything else that could hide her appearance.

When she was finished, she put on a pair of huge sunglasses, as well as a tightly fitted turtleneck, and a pair of black jeans. Her curly baby hairs framed her face delicately, as she pulled her hair into an extra tight ponytail.

When she was at the door, ready to leave, she pulled out a sticky note, and a pen. Willing herself to write, she began and the words flowed out effortlessly.

Dear Dad,

There's something I really need to do. I'm sorry if I've upset you, that really wasn't my intention. I can't tell you what's going on, but I just wanna say I'm sorry. You deserve your privacy, and I should've respected that. I hope that one day, you'll feel ready to tell me who this mystery lady is. I'm sure if you picked her, then she must be a lovely person. I'll be gone for most of the day, so don't worry about me. And don't try to find me. Thanks for understanding. I love you dad.

Forever and always
Charity Isla Davis,

She stuck the note onto the microwave door, so there would be no missing it. With one more shaky breath, she turned the handle of the heavy oak door, and headed out into the brisk, early morning.

"Thanks." She said, the wind whispering ominously in response.