To Catch A Dream

Bailey Part Thirty - Eight

I wake up listening to the soothing rhythm of thunder clouds. I smile; that's the thing about thunder clouds, they are powerful and always seen, nothing can stop them from creating their storm. I quickly throw on an oversized black hoodie with some sort of creature that's crying blood, and then I pair that off with ripped black jeans and Chuck Taylors. All those prissy faces at school can get scrunched up once they see my outfit, I mean, that's what I live for.

Once I reach the door, I find my dad passed out on the floor with alcohol seeping through the wood. All of a sudden all I see is red, and fury explodes within my veins because I know that I deserve better than this pathetic excuse of a life. All my dad said for those years is that I deserved this. That I wasn't good enough. That this was my fate. He made me doubt myself, he made me feel like I wasn't worth it. Because of that, all along I thought that I deserved all these scars, both emotional and physical. I thought that I was meant to be treated this way, that this was my destiny. 

But now, within these past few months, I've realized that I mean more to myself than just some punchbag; I've nurtured my self-worth into something I can live with. No matter how dark my past is, I'm still a person, and I deserve love. Even the worst of people deserve that. My anger simmers down, and now all I feel is pity for Dad. He never had someone to love him. Mom just walked out of his life and she was his everything. I guess I haven't been easy to deal with because I'm the thing that reminds him of the person who left us, not caring to look back. It's not like I'll ever be able to forgive what he has done to me, but I can understand and can cope with the pain a little better knowing part of the reason why he's like this monster that was carved his grief, his anger. All those years of guilt for nothing lift off me, and I feel free, not bound to the ground with that little voice nagging in the back of my head eating away at the few positive things of my life. My heart blooms with warmth as a smile spreads across my face. 

I've learned how to cope with my demons because of him. Jonah. I always thought that I didn't need hope, I always thought that it was dangerous, but now I'm realizing that I only thought this way is because I was bitter that I didn't have something to look forward to, that I didn't have anything to work for. The flavor of hope is the best-damned thing I've ever tasted, it's been a flavor that I've missed. My gratitude for Jonah is insurmountable, how the hell can I ever repay him? He's shown me the gift of life, and without him, I'd be doing nothing more than just surviving.

. . .

Once I reach school I see huge posters plastered on the graffitied walls that some seniors did a few months ago. On the posters with detailed, fancy lettering I see the word "Prom." What is this "prom"? I must have been standing there for quite a while trying to figure out the hell that even is, so I get shoved a lot. The bell for first period brings me out of my confusion as I head to history. Almost all the spots are filled up, so I either sit next to some guy who thinks no one can see him pick his nose, or right behind Jonah. Done deal, that spot is where I'm going to sit so I can ask him about "Prom". The teacher drones and drones about the WPA and the New Deal, so I decide to chuck my pencil at the back of Jonah's head. He turns around and I smirk at him, and he returns that with a heart-stoppingly beautiful smile.

"What is 'Prom'?" I ask him.

His eyes go wide and surprised. "You don't know what Pro-'"

"JONAH, BAILEY, what is it that is so pressing that you can't pay attention to this lesson?" Our history teacher asks, who even knows what his name is.

I cringe. "Sorry, it was my fault," I mutter.

"Speak up Ms. West, and the next time you decide to have your little side conversation, make sure it isn't disrupting my lesson." He sighs, exasperated.

"Aye, aye Captain," Jonah salutes.

A smile tugs on the old history teacher's face as he shakes his head. I snicker, leave to good old Jonah to make amends with a history teacher. He's such a goody-shoes that it becomes funny, but I mean that's why I love him. He's a good person, deep down to the core. 

I know it's been a long time since we've posted, but we promise we are going to FINISH this story, no matter what. Tell us what you think down below!