Colliding with Carnage

Chapter 4: Take Me Out, Tonight

Luna's p.o.v.

My eyes opened as my alarm went off. It was 7 a.m., and almost immediately a gross feeling crept up in my throat. Crap. Was I sick? I rolled out of bed and went to blow my nose, which was undoubtedly congested. While in the bathroom, I took my temperature with a thermometer from my medicine cabinet. I hated to miss school, and I wanted to see if the sickness was bad enough to stay home.

After holding the thermometer under my tongue for some time, it gave its familiar three little beeps. I checked the display.

101.

That didn't seem good. I opened the cabinet back up and got some Advil to take to lower my temperature. I should've known I was going to get sick, I had a tickle in my throat all of yesterday. I sighed, downed the Advil, and crawled back into bed. The covers made me too hot, but without them, I was freezing. I tossed and turned for twenty minutes before I decided that sleep was probably not going to happen, at least not until I took some cold medicine or felt a little less uncomfortable. Deciding that I should at least be productive, I opened my laptop and started emailing each of my teachers that I would be missing school today due to a fever and congestion, and asked if there was anything I could to make up the work I would be missing. Of course, I didn't expect anyone besides my psych teacher to notice my absence. I barely had a presence in that school at all. But I liked my classes and I liked learning. It was one of the few things that brought me actual, uncorrupted joy.

I finished sending the emails and laid back down to try and sleep. Luckily this time, my efforts were successful, and I drifted off into a feverish sleep.

My eyes opened back up. I checked the time. 11 a.m. I thought to myself that it may be wise to head downstairs and grab something to eat. I threw on my huge navy blue champion sweatshirt and headed down the stairs. I took a left into the kitchen and saw my dad sitting at the kitchen table, working.

This was always a gamble. Sometimes, he would forget that I needed to be at school. Sometimes, though, he liked to kid himself and think he was a responsible father, and when he does this, he reprimands me for not being at school. Which would it be? I wondered.

I made my way to the cupboard and grabbed some Campbell's chicken noodle soup. I poured the contents into a saucepan and put it on the stove. My dad was still fixated on his work. I could see his graying hair, tousled and still holding in gel from the previous day. He was handsome, especially for his age. He took good care of himself. And I think he knew that. Why else would he have a different girlfriend over every week?

He had on his glasses and he was coming through his beard with his fingers. He was thinking over something. What was he thinking? I wondered. He was undoubtedly working. But on what? Sometimes, in the rare moments where I didn't feel contempt for my father, I was legitimately curious as to what the inside of his head was like. Was he like me? Does he get anxious at the drop of a hat? Was his carefree lifestyle a defence mechanism against that anxiety? Or does his lifestyle reflect his actual attitude? This man was such a stranger to me.

"Good morning, daddy." I said to see if I could get his attention. He turned around suddenly.

"Luna! I didn't hardly see you come in the room. What are you up to?" He asked.

"Making chicken noodle soup." I stopped myself from saying I was making it because I was sick. I wanted to see if he would ask further.

"Sounds delicious. Clean up after yourself when you're done. I've got a co-worker coming over at 12." He said. I rolled my eyes and turned back to my chicken noodle soup. What co-worker needed to come over? Why doesn't he just go into work? Probably because it's harder to screw in the office than at home. Already agitated, I decided to press him on the issue.