°The Drug in Me is You°

{Chapter Two}

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"You matter to somebody...even if you don't know it yet."

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Josephine's POV

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There are moments in our lives that seem to define us...but, isn't it really what lies beyond those moments?

"Josie!!" I heard my mom's voice call from downstairs. I groaned to myself and rolled out of my tiny, yet comfortable bed, scribbling the last of my thoughts into my journal before placing it onto my desk. While tucking the corners of my bed sheet into the headboard, I took my time because I was dreading the day that laid ahead of me.

"Josie!!" she called again.

"I'm up!" I yelled back. The cabinets opened and closed downstairs, the sounds of her frantically preparing breakfast. The knot in my stomach grew with each step to the bathroom. By the time I started the shower, it was nearly unbearable. I spent the past week nervously anticipating my new high school. The past few days had been spent picking out new clothes, getting school supplies, and getting everything together...including my life, while the other teenagers around here were enjoying their free-time without a care in the world. Now, today would be my first day back at school since the move from California to New York. I would be attending Beacon High, some public school about fifteen minutes away from my shitty apartment in Brooklyn.

The day I found out I had to leave California, I was devastated. I vowed to go back the first chance that I got. But, I never said a word about it to my mother. I never said anything to my mother, at that. She had become a completely different person after the death of my father. She used to be as fun and free as him, but now she was just an empty, hollow shell of a woman. Nothing was left. And nothing that I ever did was good enough. Not even taking up a job at my uncle's diner to help pay the bills instead of enjoying my summer. But, I never complained. I knew what kind of strain the situation put on my mother. Even if the one on myself was larger, it didn't matter. I didn't push. Just like I didn't push my mother to talk about the death of my father, because Lord knows that she wouldn't anyway. Most days we'd just act like he never existed, yet the oppression in our hearts said otherwise.

The hot water loosened my strained muscles. How long have I been in here? I thought to myself. I hurriedly washed my hair and body, lazily running a razor over my legs to remove the small stubble that had appeared on them over the weekend.

As I wrapped the towel around my wet body, my mother called my name again. I ignored her. I knew she was nervous for my first day, this was our chance to make our lives in New York work again, but I had spent days preparing for this - when I wasn't working at the diner, of course. All I needed was a decent group of friends and no drama or distractions, that was all I was asking for.

"Josephine!"

"I am coming down now, please don't call my name again!" I yelled as I made my way down the stairs.

My mother was sitting at the table, hurriedly eating some breakfast.

"Hey," I smiled brightly, pulling my brown hair into a bun.

"Honey, I can wait a couple of minutes while you fix your hair," my mom said quietly, running disapproving eyes over me.

I walked to the mirror in the hallway and nodded. She was right. My hair needed to be presentable for today, and, of course, she did not hesitate to remind me. She never did.