A Life Foretold

Chapter 3: It's Only My Love

2250 words.

  "Did you live with your father?" The blonde woman asked.

   "That is just as complicated as everything else." I was beginning to get frustrated. How hard is it to just listen! That's their job, isn't it?!

   Another woman spoke up, reddish hair and chocolatey eyes, "What happened if your parents didn't get divorced?"

   I sighed, glancing at the ceiling with a clouded gaze. There were so many memories I never wanted to revisit, and the annoying part is that they'll stay with me for the rest of my life, clinging to me like a parasite.

   The collapsing of sanity came in five stages, each stage progressively worse and me discovering the brutality of reality so much so that sleeping became a form of escape because anything was better than actuality.

   Mom considered stage one to have begun when father started drinking; I disagree, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

   "Killua?" asked Mom. It was our fourth night in a hotel. Alluka made the room a mess by fabricating a pillow empire, but none of us had the heart to get mad.

   "Hmm?"

   There was a long pause.

   "We need someone to check up on your father."

   My heart sank, "You mean me."

   Another pause, "yes."

   I remained staring at the history textbook in my hand, frozen, devastated. I was afraid of the unknown, the oblivion, and finding the answer alone without anyone else's comfort.

   The next pause was the longest yet, "For Alluka's sake." I turned to Alluka, who was asleep, cuddling a stuffed animal, mumbling our dog's name. Then I heard Mom choke a sob, "And for mine."

   "Okay." It would've been selfish to say no. I didn't know what was going on with Father, and I wanted it to stay that way. Although, the way Mom would stare off into space frequently with a saddened gaze gave away the answer.

   I felt bare walking into the house, vulnerable. The halls were dark, and the house was in the messiest state I've ever seen. Some of Alluka's stuffed animals were chewed up, the living room smelled of urine, alcohol, sweat, and beer cans covered every possible surface. I didn't want to wake up Father, who snored on the now-stained couch, so I carefully slinked around the living room.

   That's when I noticed our puppy, Mike, was missing. My heart dropped for what seems like the umpteenth time that day. I called her name frantically, searching under every pillow, and around every corner.

   "Shut up!"

   I flinched at the harshness present in my dad's voice. "Where's Sophie?!" I yelled across the room, careful to leave out any hint of anger or aggression.

   He was out cold.

   I clenched my fists until my knuckles were white, red was all I could see, and I felt hot, very hot. Stomping away, I whipped around when hearing a yelp. I stumbled upstairs as fast as my legs could carry, and when I opened the game room, I found seven young-adult males. The room was foggy, smelling of weed, and all of them were passed out except for one, holding tiny Sophie by the tail.

   If killing everyone in sight was considered socially appropriate, I definitely would have indulged in the matter. "PUT THE DOG DOWN!!"

   The black-haired, scruffy man looked over at me and dropped Sophie with a thud. I ran over, scooping her up in my arms, reassuringly stroking her white, fluffy fur.