floating// v.criss

02 - home

WARNING— SENSITIVE CONTENT

"Amber! Make some use to your sorry excuse of a life and bring your father a beer!" He shouted. I take a couple breaths and immediately walk from the heating stove over to the fridge, grabbing out a beer and walking fast-paced to the living room armchair before he got mad. I hated my father when he was mad. I hated him always, but I was scared for my life when he was mad.

My father snatched the bottle from my hand and scowls at me. "Could've been quicker." He states, his tone harsh.
"When is dinner going to be done, girl?" He demands. I avoid eye contact. I knew this was coming. I was late at getting dinner done. It was supposed to be on the table as he walked in from work, but I was out with the Losers looking for Georgie. I thought I'd have enough time to get back and make dinner. I thought it would be okay, but he got home early and it wasn't done. It still isn't done. "It's almost done, dad." I say quietly.

"Almost! You know the rules you little screw up!" He grabs my wrist in a tight hold, so tight I knew there would be bruises later. I wince and pull my hand back, bracing my feet and pulling.
"Let me go! I told you it was almost done!" I shout at him, my heart pounding. I thrash harder, and then the next thing I know I have a black eye and a bruised wrist and no dinner for the night.

Home life wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to run away, like my mother, but I had no place to go if I did. And my brother was in no place to run away either. We didn't have a car, and our father was a cop. An alcoholic cop that abused his kids and threatened to starve or beat them if they didn't comply with his wishes the exact moment he wanted them.

Henry has suffered a few broken bones in the past. I'd mostly gotten sprains or bruises. I got off easy because he thinks it was Henry's fault mom left the most for him doing some bad things when we was younger.
I hated our father. He was utterly horrible, but fear kept me and Henry at bay. Fear was a dreadful thing.

I sit in my room then, and grab out a nearly full sketching pad and pencil. I spend hours listening to music on my tape while I sketch out the most recent monster of my nightmares. Eight months since Georgie disappeared, Eight continues months of searching all over town with Bill and the losers. Eight months since an innocent boy lost his life. The pain of realizing he was dead and missing seeing him around town with his family was a harsh one. But you couldn't ever get rid of it.
The pain of losing someone—it didn't ever go away, you just learn to deal with it. Or in my case, shove it way back into the closet of emotion I refused to share with anyone.
I zone out for a while, listening to my music and I eventually fall asleep. I see the same day again, and yellow eyes watching me from the depths of the darkness. Another nightmare.
I hear a loud bang, and then I'm sat up in my room, and I look out the window.
What was dusk a couple minutes ago was now dawn.

I'd fallen asleep drawing. Today was the last day of school. And I was going to be late.

I hurriedly stand up and glance at my notebook, to see a realistic pencil sketch of the clown I'd been drawing, halfway done.
I drew to keep myself sane. So most the time I drew my thoughts and whatever this creepy clown was and why ever I'd seen him that day remained an unsolved mystery that had been taunting me ever since. I close the notebook and hide it under the mattress in my room.

Quickly I dress in high heeled combat boots, mom jeans, and a black sweater tucked in my waistband. I brush my teeth and tie my hair up messily—no time to brush it. I rush down the stairs and out the door, just in time to see Henry piling into Belch Huggins car. I feel their eyes on me as I make to go to my bike, and hear some commotion from the car.

"A!" I hear Henry call at me. I glance over at him with uncertainty, seeing his group of friends staring at me while he leans out the passenger window.
He nods his head toward the car and I sigh in relief, gripping the straps on my bag and walking over to the car.

I didn't have much of a care for school and being on time, but I wasn't allowed to miss any more classes or I'd have to repeat the grade. That was not something I'd want to do by any means.

Some days when the so called "Bowers Gang" was running on time for them and late for me, they'd offer me a ride to Derry high school...we, of course, had a few more creative names for the place.

Henry allows me to climb into the car and to my usual place; in the back, in the middle of one of my favorite people, and one of my least favorite.
Victor Criss sits on my right, and the ever so creepy Patrick Hockstetter, uncomfortably close to my left.
I've barely sat in my seat when Belch hits the gas and Henry adjusts the volume to too loud on his heavy metal music.

I can hardly hear my thoughts, but I make sure I'm fully aware of my surroundings. Henry and the guys tended to get distracted from the point a lot. Like the one time when we were headed to the store and they ended up chasing Mike Hanlon miles through the woods just because they had caught site of him in town. Thankfully though, the rest of the Losers were already in class, and Mike didn't run into town until later this evening. I hated that they did this.

The Bowers Gang was vicious and cruel, thats was for sure, but they weren't all entirely cold hearted. Henry and Patrick for sure, just not so much Belch and Vic. Those two just went along with it for the most part, and Vic—he knew that being Henry's friend kept him from being bullied. I didn't blame Vic and Belch as much as I did my brother and Patrick. Mentally I was sure there was something wrong with Patrick, but Henry had quite the excuse if someone looked close enough. But then again, there were no excuses that would make whats he's done to the losers and Mike a forgivable thing.

I hated that Henry took it out on other people, especially my close friends, but the Losers knew what background we had and they knew I was already stopping Henry as much as I could from hurting them even more. And they knew I wasn't like him—I was just his sister.

Belch jerks the wheel to the side to turn and I slide across my seatbelt-less seat and into Patrick Hockstetters side. My breath catches.
I move away from him quickly, apologizing and not meeting his eyes. I steady my feet to the floorboard and grip my bag tighter in my hands.

"Don't worry so much, little Am." He says cooly, but with that creepy smile and taunting gaze he does that makes you feel as if your being looked at by a psychopath. Little did I know at the time that I actually was.
I smile falsely—something I'm good at, and then return to staring out the window.