Broken Memory ✓

1. Welcome to Bridgeport

A/N ayyyy guess who's in self quarantine? Me! So I'm starting (and publishing) another story. If you don't know (shameless self promo), I have another story about ghosts and stuff (and also it made my best friend cry, hi Katie) and you should read it *cough*!

Not into ghosts? Cool! This story doesn't have any. And I'm actually trying to write long chapters. Anyway, I've gone on far too long... But please please comment criticisms (or things I should keep doing) and remember this is NOT going to be the best because I'm young (and dumb). 

Also, wanna be friends? Need someone to talk to? I have no life so I'll definitely respond within hours and I'm always here! Aight, enjoy!

You're now entering: Bridgeport

A new start. The fifth new start to be exact, so it doesn't feel all that new anymore.

I glance out the window, seeing small buildings fill the desolate streets. A small town. There's a gas station - two, actually - and a small supermarket. Mom never liked bustling cities. They made her nervous. Anxious.

Dad continues to drive through the streets of this town, and I find myself wondering how we were able to find the most boring location to live in. Everything feels empty, incomplete. Abandoned buildings are mixed in with the taken ones, and I start to wonder why there are so many.

But I stop myself from wondering. Because it's not like I could ever explore the buildings... As much as I'd love to. Mom would ground me for days if I even went outside without her permission.

I'm tired of moving.

Every place we stay feels the same. Ends the same. At first we're happy. I make friends. Mom is stable and feels safe. Dad... Well, I guess he lays around anywhere. But then Mom slowly spirals. Gets paranoid. What if the thump I accidentally caused was a murderer? That sound at night that's clearly the fridge is proof our house will go up in flames at any given point. It all feels ridiculous.

I'm getting tired of making friends and then losing them. Tired of not understanding math because the schools all started at different lessons. Structured their programs differently. But... It's not like I can do anything about it. There's only three years left until I can move out. If Mom would even allow me to... Because somehow, she'd control my life when I'm an adult too.

The drive stays silent. Dad is always fairly quiet, though. Mom is the one who always tries to make conversation, but she's too engrossed by the scenery right now. I bring my attention back to my book, ignoring the new town. I'll be living here for two months tops anyways.

All of my boxes sit in my room on the carpet floor. My room is on the second floor of our new two story house. Dad hauls my bookshelf in and places it against the wall next to my door. He sighs, sitting down on the floor. "This is a lot of work, moving from place to place," he tells me, wiping sweat running down his forehead. "Especially when you're the one moving all the furniture. I hope this is our final home."

"Me too. I'm tired of losing friends every couple of months," I admit. He nods understandingly.

"Well, back to it. Start loading up the bookshelf. You're okay if it's right here, right?"

"Yep!" I walk over to my boxes of books and open them up. Books have always been there when I've been forced to stay home. All the time. I never get out enough, so I just read and go on adventures in that way... I just wish I could actually be there sometimes. Free. As I long for freedom, to drive for hours on the road, to... Live, I nicely organize all my books alphabetically.

Dad comes back later to maneuver my bed into my room. He's obviously very exhausted, you can tell by the bags hanging from his eyes, and I wish I was strong enough to help him. But I'm practically a stick. Mom makes sure I eat healthy... But she never lets me go on runs to exercise. I love runs, no other ways of exercise actually gain my interest like going on long runs and hikes through nature.