The Colours We Give | On hold

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tassel

ORANGE CLOUDS FLOAT in the sky, leaving minor spaces here and there for the stars to be seen. The moon is at one of its thinnest crescent phases. All in all, the sky looks like a ginormous dark chocolate cake with caramel and silver balls frosting, topped with a wedge of white chocolate.

As I think about it more, my stomach starts grumbling although I've just finished my dinner. I decide to get a chocolate bar from the cupboard to calm my craving, because it doesn't die down even after ten minutes.

Just as I open the door, the hushed but unnaturally loud voices of Mom and Dad scurry into my ears. Anger is being thrust in all directions. But mainly towards each other.

I sigh.

I walk to the kitchen, trying not to shift my eyes towards their bedroom. Since we unfortunately live in a compact apartment with only two bedrooms and a tiny hall, I somehow manage to catch a brief glance of their expressions. Malice-filled.

It makes something tug at my heart. Or maybe it's just my stomach demanding a chocolate. I hastily take one from the cupboard and go back to my room. 

If there is one place I hate and love to be in, it's my room. My only getaway place. A safe haven; a home within a home.

I resume looking at the night sky, this time with a bar of Bournville in my hand. My temptation subsides bit by bit as I nibble on the dark chocolate.

Not just the night sky, but I normally love gazing at the sky. It radiates such a calm feeling. The way it changes everyday, but never leaves. Always thorough and infinite, powerful enough to remain. Dressed with a bright sun or the light of a thousand shimmering stars. Wearing a warm  smile or an overflow of tears.

I like comparing it to other things. It just looks so comparable, and not in a bad way. It's more of an I-can-relate-with-you way. I collate it to something different everyday. Anything that comes to my mind at that moment, really.

I've always considered that the sky is getting destroyed. Many people say it's the atmosphere dying, or floating human junks and wastes killing (outer) space. But, I consider it to be the sky. Because the sky covers both the domains - the Universe and the atmosphere.

"Tassel!" rages a feminine voice. Pausing my thoughts, I prepare myself to listen to whatever's going to come my way. After all this time, bracing myself comes so much as a natural defense that I don't even need to make an effort. I drag myself out of my rolling chair and go to the room where my parents are. 

"Tassel, where was your father yesterday?" Mom asks, just as I enter.

"At work?" I say, trying my best to not sound snobby. But my best doesn't turn out to be convincing enough.

"No!" she snaps. "I mean after he picked you up from school. Did he stop somewhere in between?"

"Yes," I reply. Mom turns to Dad with an Aha! look. I then proceed to complete my sentence. "We stopped to buy some groceries."

Dad gives Mom the Aha! look this time, and in an instant I realize what the topic of their dispute is about tonight.

An affair. Which I'm 888% sure my Dad doesn't have. He'd only have an affair in case his favourite book became a person, but it isn't, so he doesn't. Simple as that. But that's obviously not what my mother thinks.

"Why are you always taking your father's side?" Mom howls at me. I want to howl back at her that I'm only stating what we really did and not taking sides. I hate taking sides. Sides aren't my thing. I've always considered myself as someone who doesn't like to get involved into matters but is pushed into. Perhaps a moderator or a passerby or even a judge. But never on a side.

I'm used to it though. It's hard to remember how many times Mom has called out to me for this. At rare times, she loses her temper and throws random stuff at me when she's really angry. I bruised my chin once because of a lotion bottle she chucked at my face, and another time she hit me with a scale on my butt multiple times, making me unable to sit down for half an hour.

"Yeah, okay," I reply, my tone dull. Mom and I don't get along too well always. We're okay, good, most of the time, but when we're not, the scene is pretty bad.

"Stop being so irrational, Myra," Dad begs. His voice makes my stomach churn. Why does he use this tone?

Mom starts to shout at Dad again, and their arguments make me feel cramped. A few seconds later, I leave the room without a word and head to mine.

After I've finally soaked myself in the peace of my room, I finish whatever school work is left and pack my bag for the next day. I then open my (Dad's technically, but I use it pretty much the entire time) laptop to read a story on Inkpad called Free Tickets to Water Hill. It's about a fourteen year old girl called Nancy Frappe who lives in the fictional country of Amari. It's her childhood dream to go to Water Hill, a hill that's supposedly made of magic water that does the standard magic water stuff. The only problem is that no one knows if it's real. Like God, the only thing that remains close to learning about it's existence is through books and old records. This intrigues her and so, with her two dogs, she decides to look for it with a map she found in a book from a nearby library.

I really wanted a change of pace from all the romance novels I had been reading since the last two months. So when I found this on Inkpad, a site for readers and writers, I immediately connected with it's preface and felt that it was perfect for a new beginning. So far, my decision seems up to par.

 Halfway through the ninth chapter, I hear Mom calling me again. Her tone isn't angry this time. It's just a normal call.

Alrighty, I think. It's nap time.

I once again head to my parents' room to find out that my intuition is correct, and also because that's where I sleep. It's ironic that Dad sleeps in mine. 

To this day, I'm not sure why we sleep like this. Maybe Mom thinks I'm not old enough to sleep all alone even though I'm seventeen. Or maybe she doesn't like sleeping with Dad or sleeping alone, so her last choice is to sleep with me. Maybe it's both, maybe it's none.

But I need to sleep alone. That's when I can really sleep, and it's not only for privacy. It's because both my parents sound like dinosaurs when they snore. It's not even an exaggeration. It honestly disturbs even the little sleep I try to get.

I fall onto the bed and snuggle into my pillow next to my mother. Dad covers us with our blankets like always, as if nothing happened between Mom and him. "Good night," I tell him. He wishes back and leaves.

I don't have a habit of saying it to my mother. It feels strained, like there's a rope attaching my tongue to the lower jaw every time I try uttering those words. She's never told it casually either. Probably when I'm sick she does, and I reply. Other than that, all I receive are snores and more snores. I'm not sure why, though. We do fight, but most of the time, I'm doting over her. It's just a simple good night that feels sore in my mouth. 

After I close my eyes, I mumble a last few words, something I've been saying for quite some time now.

Good night to everything in the Universe, to the Universe, and to me.

I need to be separate. Because I don't belong in the Universe.

I just don't belong.