Falling Apart

Chapter 2

The next morning, I'm woken up by the sound of my phone buzzing against the floor. A quiet groan escapes from my throat as I turn over under the warm duvet and tap the screen to turn it off. It always takes a few tries before I hit the right button and it stops.
I open my eyes, only a little, so that the brightness wouldn't blind me. Well, at least I thought it was going to blind me. The truth is, it's 4am at the moment. In an hour, we'll sit in dad's old grey Volvo and roll out of Ohio.
I know, most of the people would just wake up like 15 minutes before they need to go out. Not me. I love sleeping more than anyone in the world, but… I need to eat. Eating is important for me and probably even more enjoyable than sleeping (if it's possible), I'm not sure about anything I feel.
I push myself up on the mattress, my palm touching the cold dirty floor. I hiss in pain and pull it away quickly. I turn the table lamp on and look at the palm. The wound is still sore, and now it's dirty. I have a really bad habit I use when I wanna calm down and hold my feelings back; I bury my nails into my palms. Most people wouldn't think it's possible, but gosh it is. It hurts as hell, but always helps me calm down and not punch my dad. It keeps me distracted.
I get up tiredly and tiptoe to my bathroom, barefoot. I turn the light on and a strange voice comes out of my lips as I squeeze my eyes back shut, taken aback from the bright light. I open my one eye just enough so that I could see where's the sink. I put my palm under the cold water and rub it smoothly.
After I'm done in the bathroom, I walk back to my bed. I have my last pack of onion flavored Lay's chips and I should have a can of Mountain Dew. Yep, here it is.

“Wake up,” I hear my dad say roughly. His hand goes onto my temple and ear, and he pushes my head against the cold window.
“Ow,” I murmur.
“What did you say?” he asks. My eyes go wide and I shake my head a little. He nods, “Good. You have 10 minutes, I need to smoke. It's the only stop.”
I nod quickly and jump out of the car, looking at my watch. I've slept more than half of the way here. It's 10:34. I get into the gas station and walk to the counter. The woman smiles at me sweetly. “Hi, could I use the bathroom?”
“Yes, honey. It's on your left.”
“Thank you,” I say quietly and smile. I make my way to the left and discover that it's not that hard to find.
After I've used the bathroom, I take out the money from my back pocket. Ten dollars. Okay. I walk to the pasties. A butter croissant. I smile. It costs 3.50. I look at the time. 10:39. I have five more minutes before being late.
I grab a paper bag and stuff it full with two croissants. After that, I walk rapidly to the drinks. Just a water. 2.50. I grab a bottle of it and walk to the counter.
The woman smiles at me as she starts beeping through the products. “That makes 9.50.” I sigh in relief and put all the ten dollars in front of her. She gives me back 50 cents.
I smile. “Thank you,” I say and grab my stuff.
She smiles. “Have a safe trip.” I smile back and nod a little. Then I take my way towards the door. Dad is in the car already, so I run there and jump in.
“What did you buy?” he asks. You gotta be kidding me. It's my food and my money.
“Croissants,” I murmur, putting the seatbelt on.
“Give me one,” he says and grabs the bag from me. I muffle my sigh. He puts the bag back onto my lap. I take the second croissant out and rest my head against the cold glass window. I start eating it slowly, so that it'd last longer and maybe actually full my stomach somehow. Dad sees my water, but never says anything about it. Logical. He would prefer beer or at least coke.
I look at him with my eyes. His hair is darker than usual, messy and dirty. His shirt has stains on it. He's wearing buff colored shorts and sandals. There are huge black bags under his red eyes and his lips are cracked as he is humming to the song playing in the radio.
At least he's not drunk. I can smell the cigarettes he probably smoked when I was sleeping, but he's not doing it at the moment.
“What are you staring at?” he asks angrily and I see his eyes on me now.
I wince at the voice and lower my head. “Nothing, I'm sorry,” I murmur.
“Stop staring,” he says under his breath and concentrates his eyes back on the road in front of us. In a few minutes, I move my eyes on the woods we're driving past. When I was little, I used to dream about living alone in the woods with my brothers. Just hunt and pick berries or something. We'd find spring water from somewhere and wouldn't die from hunger or thirst.
When we were little, none of us could work. Matt was 12 when I was born. People hired him when he got 16, not earlier. So the first 4 years of my life, they would find or sometimes even steal money from somewhere to get us clothes or food. Dad never did anything…
I hear my father start humming again. I smile at the sound a little. His singing voice is amazing. Just as Nick's, who used to sing at me and our other brothers. Mostly to me, so that I'd fall asleep again after seeing a nightmare and waking up with a scream. My dad could pursue something, he could get a record contract for sure. I mean, not now, not after drinking, smoking and doing drugs for ever since I was born and mom died.
The boys remember him sober and as a great dad. They remember him reading bedtime stories for them and even kissing and hugging them. Mom's death broke him. He blames me. If I wouldn't have been born, mom would be alive. I hate myself because of it.

My eyes are starting to fall shut again. I keep them open though, because I know we'll be in my new home soon. They keep closing and I keep opening them. I'm so tired. It's like 3pm or something now. I'm not motivated enough to look at the time. That's until I see a sign. Welcome to Riverdale, the town with pep.
I smile a little and it feels as if my tiredness is gone. “This is your home town?” I dare to ask my dad.
He throws me a look, “I lived in Greendale. Went to school here and had friends here.”
I gulp, “And mom?”
“You’ll see,” he says between his teeth. I give him a small nod and look at all the places we drive past.
The school. Riverdale high. Big beautiful houses, little kids playing in front of them, teens riding with bikes. A diner Pop's. Many teens and also many motorcycles parked in front of the diner. I see two dark haired boys, about my age looking into my eyes as we drive past it. They start grinning and one yells something to the other people entering Pop's. They all look at me and I turn my head away. I heard what he shouted. “New girl!” That's what made everyone look.
Here are so many beautiful houses and we stop in front of one. Dad pulls into the driveway and I look at him in surprise.
“What?” he sighs with an annoyed voice.
“We'll live here? How much does it cost?” You know, according to what I know, you don't have a job. I wanna say, but keep my mouth shut.
“Nothing,” he grumbles. I raise my eyebrows. He rolls his eyes, “Stop being like this. Take your bags and boxes inside, your room is the second one on your left.”
I shake my head, “No.”
“What did you just say to me?” he asks between his teeth.
“I said no. I want to know, why can we live here for free?” I know what's coming next, but I still wince as he slaps me super hard. At least the ring's sharp thingy didn't touch my face and didn't leave a cut.
“It's your mother's childhood home,” he says, getting out of the car. My eyes go wide and I start smiling a little. It's a small town, maybe the neighbors are the same. Gosh, maybe they didn't only know her, but were actually friends.
“Why-” I start, but shut up, knowing the answer. Why haven't we come here before? I wanted to ask, but it's obvious. Because he's a drunk and a drug addict and in this town here, most people probably know who he is.
“Why what?” he asks angrily as I throw my backpack over my shoulders and lift my luggage out, followed my the only two small boxes I have.
“Why do you have this house?” I ask instead. He slaps me again. I squeeze my eyes shut and stand there, frozen, for few seconds. And then start carring my stuff towards the front door.
He throws me the keys and I catch them. “They’re yours,” he only says. I nod a little and open the door. My eyes go wide as I step inside. It smells perfect. It looks perfect. We only need to open windows to get fresh air inside. “Move,” he yells at me. I jump a little and move forward.
I follow him upstairs and he points at a room. I go there. Another shock takes over me. It's huge; ut has a big bed in the corner, posters on the wall above it, a writing desk and a chair, a little more old fashioned than usual, but the whole town seems to be like this. And I love it.
Here is a white dresser for clothes and in the corner of the room stands a white framed mirror. I can hang my coats and stuff behind it. Here's also a makeup table and another chair. It has another mirror and a special light, so that I wouldn't mess it up.
I have tears in my eyes and I hold back sobs in my throat. It's my mom's. This room is the room in what my mom grew up in.
I walk to the bed and touch it with my hand. It's so soft. The cover is old and I need to change it, so I pull it off. I need to change the sheets as well. I'll do that later.
I slowly make my way to the bookshelf. It is full of books I haven't read. Old books. Murder mysteries, romance, adventures. I guess I have enough summer filled with activities now. Take that, Dan, I told you I don't need friends in order to not to be bored all the time.