Falling Apart

Introduction

Hey guys! This was the 11th fanfiction that I wrote. I like to believe I've developed and learned new things throughout writing all those stories, so the newer they are, the better grammar, punctuation, and vocabulary they have. Thanks for being with me! xx, Lotta.

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My dad? Hal Cooper. A 49 year old drug addict and a local alcoholic. He has never taken care of me, never given me any food, any clothes, any love. I can't remember a single day when he came home not drunk or high.
My oldest brother is Matthew, but we call him Matt. He's... 28 by now. I haven't seen him in five years, because he is in the military. We call almost every week, but never can use the video, 'cause the connection isn't that good. The phone calls don't make me any calmer though. I'm still prepared every day for someone to come and knock on our door and tell us he didn't make it. He's the guy, who (if I didn't know any better) I'd call my dad. He has taken care of me and my other three brothers all his life. I miss him.
The next one to born was Nicholas or Nick, for us. A 25 year old Hollywood star. He's basically the reason I get food and clothes. He's not that famous, but he gets good money for his music and all the concerts he has. But he lives in LA and is a busy guy. I haven't seen him in person for a year now I think.
Then there are Daniel and Jacob (Dan and Jake) or 'The twins' as we call them. They're 20. It's kind of a tradition by now, but I haven't seen them for two years. They went to Spain to study philosophy. Yes, it's in SPANISH and I know, they're crazy. They're the smartest people I know and I love them just as much as my other brothers. We also face-time as with Nick, but it's still not the same.
I think that's it for now.
Oh right. I'm Elizabeth (Betty) Cooper. I'm still 15, but will be 16 by the end of the summer. I'm trying to take care of myself, but it can be difficult when you're a 15 year old teenage girl who can never live or act out any of her emotions, because if she would, she'd get beaten up by her own father. Not the most common situation, I know.
What about her mom? you might think. Well... She died, giving birth to me. The boys are the lucky ones. They remember what she looked like and acted like. I just dream about her every single day, wishing, that I could see her at some point of my life.
Tomorrow is the day we'll run again. Run from what? From child services, from the rent of our old apartment, from everyone who found out what my father is really like. We've been doing that for my whole life. Running. And I'm tired of it. At least, though, this time we'll go to my mom's (also my father's) hometown, where I've never been. It's called Riverdale and it's a small town. I'm hoping to find someone who might have known my mom. Maybe they have photos?
The only bad thing about it is that he will have to drive. He always smokes at the same time and I have to bare with it for 10 hours in the car. I just hope he won't kill both of us by being drunk. And that he won't drink or inject something into his arm again. Not that he would care. Most of the time I don't either, but this time I want to see the town. Riverdale.