the road to truth

-silence & flames

a/n at the end! xo

I woke up the next morning, according to my digital clock on the makeshift nightstand of old textbooks near my bed, at four in the morning.

A loud crank and a long grunt coming from my outside window, made me come out of my long needed sleep. I walked softly over to the window, shaking and watching my breath fog up the window. God was there heat up here? My hands were literally turning red and purple. I opened the shades and watched as my father, dressed in khakis, another flannel shirt and hiking boots flung his fishing pole and tool case into the truck, shutting the door with a huff. I watched him pull out of the gravel driveway, not even looking back. 

I was alone, I realized. The air felt stuffy and enclosed as I walked down the rickety steps from the attic and headed into the kitchen, the cold linoleum shocking my bare feet. A note scrawled in my father’s gibberish-like handwriting on a coffee stained napkin explained that he had to work this morning and sorry if he woke me up. Yeah I’m sorry too. 

It was still dark outside, the moon hitting the rain outside made it glisten like sparkling stars. He said that he would be home late and to stay inside since a storm was approaching.

I sighed and crumpled up the note, throwing it on the floor. I turned my back to the table, clutching my fingers on the gap and looked around the room. It was Saturday, a week since Drew’s funeral. I looked down at my left foot, the nude brace clutching it made my foot look like a weakling; ill and frail. But maybe that’s what I was as a whole. I was definitely frail, my toned body turned into a soggy mess from the inside out. Countless hours of crying, sitting in a fetus position while snacking on only ice cream for two weeks can do that to a person. 

When I think of being ill, I think of having a fever, staying home from school and watching boring TV shows all day.  But, when I look into the mirror, I know that I’m ill. My pale face, blood-shot eyes and stringy hair, is a new definition of ill. I’m not sick from the stomach but metaphorically from the heart. From last night till now, I still don’t know why my father hadn’t realized it or at least said something. Wouldn’t he have noticed that something was terribly and insanely wrong with his sixteen year old daughter? As a father, shouldn’t he have picked that up right away? Or maybe he was still in shock, that someone from my distant family actually contacted him? 

I walked out of the kitchen, my mind still pondering with lost questions about me, my father and what the hell I was doing here, when I noticed the fire. It was in the living room, a small stone fireplace in the corner by a bookshelf. I watched as the wood dropped when the fiery charcoals hit it, the smoldering of the heat hitting my face like the sun in the summer. It was weird, how for a split second I didn’t think about Drew. I watched the natural element, like it was magic. It was so simple, so different from my life…as complex as one girl’s life can be. 

authors  note: first off, i am so sorry that i haven't updated in 2 months! :o i have been SUPER busy with school and sports and dance...but i will have more time now! i also changed the plot (which meant deleting a whole section i just wrote -__- ) so that is why this chapter is so short. 

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thanks guys! <3 love, miah xo