Babysat by One Direction

Five?

Erica left at eleven because her mom needed her to watch her younger brother while she went to work. So here I am. Sitting on the opposite side of the living room watching TV while my mother sits uncomfortably on the other side.

"Would you speak to me please? Octavia? I'm sorry but it's not my choice to go on this trip it's business." I roll my eyes. "It's always business. It's never your fault! It's the business, it's my job, I don't want to! You're the CEO for goodness sakes! You decide where you go and when not the business! Mother it is your fault you just can't own up to it! You only think about the business. Have you ever even thought about how I feel? Mother I'm a straight A student, I'm on the varsity soccer team, I'm a student teacher for art, I'm in all AP classes and  you haven't once told me how proud you are of me. You've never been to one of my games. You haven't seen my art. Not once have you ever been there for me. You come and you go and you pay the bills. You may be my mother but you sure don't act like it." I walk out of the room before I start crying.

You see we have an unspoken law in our house. You don't cry. Not until you're sure you're alone, and never ever outside the house. The exception was when my dad left. That was so many years ago, I was too little to remember but my mother most certainly does.

I stop and lean against the wall for a minute. I run my hands through my hair a little roughly. My arms drop to my sides and my feet move swiftly towards the back door. I can feel the damp green grass under my bare feet switch to the cold stone that leads to the base of a large tree in our backyard. This tree is special though. As close to the top as he could get it, my dad built a tree house, just for me.

He built it before I was born and it's my most favorite place to go. I hate what he did, but I still love him. I turned it into my own personal library. I listen to music and I have three walls filled, top to bottom, with books. I even put up fairy lights so I could stay up and read past sunset.

I climb up the rope ladder and pull myself onto the floor of the tree house. I walk to my shelves and pick up my favorite book. The Girl Who Could Fly it's a child's book, but I love the idea of someone who's meant to be ordinary and instead going against society's tunneled vision, that you can be important and make a difference no matter how old you are, and that freedom is a state of mind.

My mom's voice calls me down. I didn't realize that I had already finished the book and that I was standing at the window looking at the meadow behind my house.

"Octavia. Please come down. Some people are here to see you." I groan in annoyance and head back down the ladder. I walk past my mom and start walking faster when I hear her soft footfalls on the grass close behind me.

Thinking it's just Erica and Taylor coming to get me as far away from my mother as possible, I swing the door open already talking.

"I can't believe my mother is doing this to me, I mean a babysit-" I stop completely, frozen where I stand, with my eyes glued to the people in front of me. It's definitely not Erica and Taylor.

A group of five boys stands there looking at me like I'm almost totally out of my mind...which I would have to agree with.

I know who they are, and I used to be a huge fan, but I started getting into actual bands after a while. All Time Low, Panic! At the Disco, and some others. Don't get me wrong, I mean they're still awesome, please don't maul me, but I just like different music now.

Instead of letting them in I get angry. No, not at One Direction, at my mother. What. The. Actual. Hell.

"Mother! Get your ass in here and explain what the hell you were thinking?!" My mother walks in from the kitchen. "Octavia, please lower your voice and don't cuss at me."

I roll my eyes. "Are you a fucking retard? Five guys watching me? Dad would be rolling in his grave if he were dead, heaven knows Grandma is. Do you know the probability of me getting raped? Did you even think about that?! No of course you didn't, because you only think about yourself. Have a fantastic trip mother. Don't let the door hit ya where the good Lord split ya on your way out. I'll be in my room." I don't spare the boys another glance as I walk up the stairs.

"Octavia! Get back here! I know you're  mad but you need to listen to me goddamnit!" I turn back and glare at her. "No. You listen to ME god damn it! Listen to me!" The tears chase each other down my cheeks. She's actually leaving. Again. Except this time I won't be alone. Five teenage boys? Seriously. What idiotic mother would do that to a teenage girl.

I'm supposed to be the one being babysat, even though I've stayed alone before and I'm 16 for goodness sake, but I have a feeling I'll be the one babysitting them.

Once I reach my room I close the door as softly as I can in my angered state which happens to be a full-on-diva-in-a-freaking-musical-total-badass-and-reliving-slam. I pull out my charcoal and paper, set up my chair in front of my balcony window so I have enough light and start to draw. With my music and my art I just blur out the world around me.

I don't know how long I'm drawing I just barely notice the smudges on my hands growing in darkness and in number. I can almost not see my paper because the light in the room has diminished so greatly. When I'm finally done I feel a presence with me. No not a ghost, ghosts don't exist. A person does though.

"Get out." I tell them without turning to them. I think there might be more than one. When I don't hear the person(s) leave I turn around. I'm greeted with Zayn and Niall looking over my shoulder at my artwork.

"It looks great Octavia." Zayn says quietly as to not disturb the peaceful quiet that has settled in the room since I had long ago turned my music off, not needing it for inspiration anymore. "Yeah. I know. Get out." When neither of them moved I glared at them.

I have done this numerous times before. People tell me that my cold gray eyes could turn Medusa to stone. They both looked a little uncomfortable under my gaze and finally stood up and left. Once the door shut I looked at my work. It's pretty good, but it's not good enough. Nothing I draw is ever perfect and that's the one thing I wish it could be. The one thing I wish I could be.
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A photo of her artwork. Above,  of to the side, wherever. Sorry I cussed. If it makes you uncomfortable you may want to either choose a different story or grow a thicker skin. I'm not changing my story unless I feel it will add to it in a positive way but I do appreciate suggestions. No one reads these freaking things anyway.  Peace muchachos.