POSH

Chapter 3

Jeans P.O.V

 

The whole world rotated around me, wind gushing in my face. It was exhilarating. The passion that I had towards my motorcycle was so powerful that it was pumping through my veins. It felt like I was flowing, adjusted just the way I wanted with pure freedom and exploration rading throughout my body. My mind was quiet, and I was one with my motorcycle and nature. I felt my mind go blank, the lines of the streets going blurry and my breath getting slower.

 

I turned into a parking lot, and hit the break slightly. When I took the keys out of ignition, I hooked them to the chain connected to my leather shorts belt hoops. I felt my hands wrap around my helmet and take it off, waving my hair to get it to unstick from my sweaty face. I hooked my helmet to the motorcycle handles and got off, striding toward the door.

 

My house was huge. It was brown, slick, and three stories tall. Across, it was about the size of four regular sized garages. There were various windows in the front of it, and I could see that my room window was open. I smiled at it. We had a small garden in the front of the house. I remembered that my mom loved to garden and that that garden was her own little spot. Since my mom was gone, it was getting messy, full of weeds. It had various dead flowers sprouted everywhere and looked like a garden for the dead.

 

I walked up to the house and slammed the door open, my dad staring at me with deadly glares. I smiled faintly at him and walked over to see the wrinkles furrowed across his brow and the dark circles under his eyes.

 

I looked around the house, trying to advert my attention from him. His mouth was closed and he was clenching his teeth behind his sealed lips, obviously mad at me. “Nice of you to finally come home.”

 

“Yeah dad. Uh, I’m going to go take a shower, so I’ll just,” I pointed towards the stairs, walking past my father, he grabbed my arm.

 

“No, not right now. What were you thinking Jean? A club? Who was the guy?” He bombarded me with questions, but then he sighed, “Are you hurt?”

 

A tear had fell from my eye. I knew my father cared for me and I knew he just didn’t want to see me hurt. “I’m fine daddy, he didn’t hurt me. And- and I don’t know what I was thinking, just it’s not the first time I’ve went to a club.”

 

His eyes shined, tempting him to cry, “The guy?” I shook my head, my father pursed his lips and walked away to his study. I sighed, bringing my head to my throbbing temple, you would think after enough times of getting drunk you would be used to the hangovers. I guess it did get better since the first time I got drunk, but never completely better.

 

I slowly wound myself in my bathroom, turning the water to hot and stripping out of my clothes. I just stood under the heat of my shower, letting the water wash away all my feelings. All the bad ones with my family after my mother died. That’s all it was now a days, bad memories and feelings, words being spat with hatred at each other. My family is no longer a family, not since my mother died.

 

The memories came cascading in; Argentina and me sitting on the floor playing with barbies; my mom sitting on the couch, her glasses on her nose, a book in her hand, smiling at us; dinner with all four of us, discussing how our day went, smiling. I sat down and buried my head in my hands and just sobbed. How? How could this happen to me? My family?