Before the Morning [BEING EDITED]

02 | Unattainable

Nora plucked the beer and vodka bottles from the counter and set them carefully into an already quarter-filled trash bag.

Her dad didn't usually drink this much in one night. But, with the anniversary getting closer—and, not to mention, his rising tolerance—the counter was becoming steadily harder to find each morning. Usually, she'd make sure to get at least some of it cleaned before Andy picked her up for school. Today, though, Erin had needed to get to school early to meet with a teacher, which threw the entire carpool out of whack. She hadn't had time.

Two more beer bottles went into the bag. She grimaced at the smell. It didn't matter how often she cleaned up her dad's messes—whether it be bottles, vomit, or missed attempts to go to the bathroom. The smell continued to be unbearable.

A few more bottles, and she was able to tie off the bag. She set to Clorox wiping the countertops, then hitting the room with a few—and by that she meant at least ten—squirts of air freshener. Lavender. Much better.

She toted the bag where she had the others: to the basement, to be forgotten about until she was able to make it to the return center. That was always a fun trip. The workers never commented, but it was obvious what they were thinking: what was a seventeen-year-old doing carting this much alcohol? She was lucky the police hadn't been contacted.

"It's what you deserve." Her dad's voice rang through her head. She shoved the thought away and hurried down the hall, to the basement. She practically ran down the steps, set the bag down next to the three others—those ones full—and scurried back up.

She should check her dad's room—his bathroom, too. Both usually fell victim to something or other. But Andy would be here soon, and if her dad got home from work before he arrived, she needed to be able to grab her guitar and go.

Crap. Her guitar.

She crossed back through the kitchen, to the entryway, and up the stairs.

Her guitar was waiting for her in its usual place: hanging on the wall, next to her ukulele and keyboard. She snatched it and looped the strap around her shoulders. Was she forgetting anything else? She didn't think so. The sheet music would be inside the case. Her cell phone was in her pocket. She'd already eaten and done the majority of her homework.

Still, she took a cursory glance around her room. It was the only room in the house that radiated her. Posters lined the walls with quotes about music and God. Her bureau housed her makeup, because her dad told her "to keep her shit out of the bathroom." Her bed, made and ready for her to return, hid her songbook and and prayer journal under her mattress.

She had everything. After giving her room a small smile, she hurried back down the stairs.

She'd barely reached the bottom step when the front door opened and her dad appeared.

She faltered, grip tightening on her guitar case's strap. His white skin was faintly tinted red—a bad sign—and even before the door closed, he was yanking at his tie—another bad sign. Something had happened at work.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, spotting her there.

"I—"

"And would you quit playing your guitar late at night? The racket keeps me up, and I have to wake up early in the morning."

She never played her guitar at night. She actually made it a point to not play music in the house when he was home. But...maybe the couple of times she'd lost her headphones and decided to chance playing music out loud, he'd heard. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I'll stop."

He locked his jaw and averted his gaze to the far wall. "Good," he muttered. He stormed into the kitchen. The refrigerator opened. A bottle clanked. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.