A/N: Hello, my lovely, lovely readers!
This chapter is going to be fairly short, but the next chapter will really push this book along. You'll get to understand why it's titled 'Black Eyed' a little more clearly then. Here, I'll introduce Tom, of whom I absolutly hate as a character. Sorry if this chapter is not up to par as the others; I wasn't quite feeling it today.
As always, thank you for reading!
When I walk into the house, I see more car parts on the small table in the foyer, signifying Tom’s return from the automotive garage where he works part time. I look into the living room from where I’m standing and see Sunday night football on the old TV with no one is sitting in the recliners to watch. I place my hand on the stairwell railing.
“WILLOW!” I’m scared shitless for the second time that day. “WHERE THE FUCK HAVE ‘OU BEEN!?” Tom, skinny as a toothpick from malnourishment, red as a tomato from anger, dressed in a white though stained wifebeater and jeans that have suspenders to hold them onto his body, storms out of the kitchen and is practically barreling at me through the living room. He gets within a foot of my face and the smell of alcohol and cigarettes makes me want to pass out. “’OU LEAVE A BIG ASSH MESSH FOR CAROLINE TO CLEAN AND THEN YOU JUST WALK OUT THE FRONT D’AH WITH NO C’AH?! ‘OU SHOULD BE GRA’EFUL THAT WE’AH EVEN DEAWING WITH YOU ANYM’AH WHEN YOU PULL THISH CRAP ALL THE FREAKIN’ TIME!” I use my sleeve to wipe away some of the spit that accumulated on my face during his rant.
“What are you even talking about?” I ask, exhausted. There’s always something I did wrong, and I am being constantly reminded how kind they are for keeping me and not leaving me out on the street, the words and spit spewing from Tom’s mouth - who is both missing half his teeth and brain.
“'OU DUMPED ALL THIS TRASH ON THE FL’AH AND MADE CAROLINE PICK IT UP!” He says, like it was so obvious. I look around his heaving skeletal shoulder and see the trash in front of the TV dinner table is still there. So much for “Caroline had to pick it up”.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to,” I say, shifting my frame towards the stairs.
“LIKE HELL 'OU DIDN'T! DON’T ‘OU WALK AWAY FROM ME!” He screeches as I walk up the stairs. “FINE! HAVE IT ‘OUR WAY! NO SUPP'AH FOR ‘OU!” Like I wanted dry, crusty meatloaf, anyways.
I walk up the wooden stairs, each step creaking below my feet. The top floor is where the bedrooms are located along with one bathroom. Caroline’s and Tom’s room is to the extreme left of the hallway, as mine is opposite. The wall near Caroline’s and Tom’s room has a dusty photo of their wedding, where Caroline was one hundred and fifty pounds lighter and Tom was fifty pounds heavier. They’re smiling, something I rarely see them do. I walk to my white door and turn the glass door handle.
I’ve never really settled into my room in the past three years of my stay here. The walls are white and unblemished by any photos or posters. A wooden bed frame is in the middle of the room with a thick patch quilt draped neatly over the mattress and surrounded by two nightstands, each holding a mismatched old lamp. A dresser is on the wall at its foot. I drop my bag on the floor with a thunk and throw myself on the quilt. It’s been a long day, but a good one. I’ve only met a few people my age while living here and am mainly surrounded by adults, so meeting Brenton was an extremely delightful rarity.
After a few minutes of self-coaxing, I get up from the bed to take a shower because my smell is unearthly. Turning the bathroom door's lock, I am presented with my reflection by the mirror attached to its wood. I’ve never been too found of it - my long, thick, curly hair seems too dark to go with my pale skin; my eyebrows are too bushy, and there is a childlike splattering of freckles that reside on my cheeks and nose – but there is no use in longing over a better body. You get what you get, or so they say.
I get into the shower. This house hasn’t had the greatest water pressure since the drought, so it takes a few minutes to fully wash my hair. After a while, though, the constant sound of the water hitting the white linoleum seems to magnify, and my ears start ringing. I decide to cut my shower short.
I dry myself with a white and molding towel, my ears still ringing and a headache forming. Headaches, lately, have been happening so frequently I almost expect them. They often form once or twice a day spontaneously with no proper reasoning and have been doing so for over a year now. They’re never too horrible - normally just an annoying pressure by my temples - and going to a doctor is not an available option as the Allens do not have healthcare. Though, today seems different as the headache blossoms into an excruciating migraine.
Opening the vanity door, I search for medicine, even though I know I have already taken the last of it. I pull open the drawers surrounding the sink, totally destroying the meticulous organization of the items that I had made. I search below the sink, just to see if I had placed any extra bottles of Asprin or Exedrin there by accident. With a deep sigh of loss, I find none, and gently slam the vanity door and both drawers, cradling my pounding head in my hands. This, by far, is the worst headache I have ever recieved. I pinch my eyes and knead my temples to create relief, but it never comes. Deciding to see if sleeping could be at all therapeutic, I leave the bathroom for my bed.
I wrap my towel around my torso, and open the door cautiously to make sure no one is in the hallway. When I see it is deserted besides mumblings from downstairs, I hop on the balls of my feet to get to my room. I dress in some comfortable sleeping clothes then lay my head gently on a pillow. I’m lying on my quilt, but I am in too much pain to adjust it, and added that it’s hot as Hades in my room thanks to the money-saving idea of not installing an air-conditioning unit via Caroline.
I lay there, unmoving, with closed eyes. The pounding in my head feels like an ice pick with the personal aspiration of splitting my head open and popping my eyes out of my head. I rub my cheek on my pillow in discomfort. Why hadn’t I accepted the man’s offer to drive me into town? I would have been able to buy more medicine and this probably wouldn’t be happening right now. I wait in misery for unconsciousness to consume me, when, finally, it does.
A/N: Thank you for reading!
The song is by Ten Years and I thought it sounded nice and I couldn't find a song to play so there you go (its actually my favorite song and you should listen to it because its genius.)
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Black Eyed (Original)
Paranormal[1st draft of the Black Eyed series. Permanently retired] Willow's life has never been the personification of 'normal,' and recent events just seem to keep proving that. She's never had loving parents or a friend to talk to, but when a new family...
