Stand in the Rain

She woke up that next morning. Still soaked, throat dry, muscles tense and sore, and head throbbing, she sat up.
As she rested a hand across her forehead, she attempted to piece together what had happened last night. She remembered how at dinner, she was reaching over to get the salt and spilled her glass of Coke all over her dad, across the small kitchen table. She remembered his bottle of vodka clenched in his fist. She remembered running for her life into her bedroom and locked the door. She grabbed Runaway and threw open her window, running in the rain toward the woods. She remembered hearing that horrid voice cry out to her. She remembered nestling under a big tree, playing guitar and crying herself to sleep. She remembered that yesterday was a Tuesday.
“Crap, crap, crap,” she mumbled bitterly to herself. Today was a school day.
She trudged forlornly through the woods, seeing the ramshackle cottage up in the distance. She finally got there, and climbed through her window. Her dad would probably still be sleeping off a hangover until noon, but she still found the need to get ready for school as quietly as possible.
She stripped off the wet clothing and pulled on a clean pair of jeans, a plain white shirt, and a red and black flannel shirt. She pulled her unruly, tangled curls back into a ponytail and with her makeup, covered up bruises that scarred her face.
The door creaked as she opened it, and she winced, trying as hard as she could to softly pad down the hall into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She turned on the water and started to brush. Afterwards, she padded softly back to her room and scooped up her school backpack and closed the door quietly behind her as she snuck out through the window. Mission accomplished!
Through the muddy streets she plodded along, taking in the fresh smell of rain on the pavement for 20 minutes. Then, she finally, got to the ivory gates containing Creekside High School.
The school was deserted. The only sound she could hear from the infamous fountain, the popular hang out spot, was the churning water. The runners-up, the stairs and the parking lot, where also empty. She ran inside, glancing up at the hallway clock, “Shit, not again…” she muttered. 8:30. Creekside started promptly at 8:00.
She walked her first period class, math, and tried to snake her way in as quietly as possible and take a seat in the back.
“Miss Payne. Late again, I see. Note?” Mr. Allen, her math teacher asked.
“Erm…no. Sorry, won’t happen again,” she said hurriedly, just wanting to sit in her typical spot in the way back, the comfort of sitting down to rest her tired legs, the comfort of screamo pounding in her ears while Mr. Allen went on droning about some math formula that she could care less about and wouldn’t use in real life was moments away.
“2nd time this week and 15th time this month you’ve given me that excuse,” he said, while kids laughed behind her.
“Right, I know. Sorry,” she mumbled and took an available seat in the back.
A girl who usually sat in front of her, Cheryl, turned around, “Wow, Rose,” she said, snapping her gum loudly and twisting her pink and platinum blonde streaked hair around her midnight black-painted finger, “you’re, like, 30 minutes late.”
Cheryl Travis was notorious for being the school’s bad girl. She didn’t owe her an excuse, “Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” she mumbled unintelligibly as Cheryl turned back around to face the white board.
She emitted a sigh, guessing that she better try to get through the lesson without her mp3 player. Mr. Allen always liked to call on her whenever she was late.
Instead, to pass the time, she just doodled in her notebook, looking studious by writing down notes, looking like she was paying attention as much as possible so her teacher wouldn’t dare call upon her.
The next three classes she had that day went similarly to this.

She was sure her dad wouldn’t pick her up today. He never did. She prepared for the long walk home, as per usual, wondering about what she would do to make her dad angry today.
As she was walking, Cheryl and all her punk friends were in her beat-up jeep, and slowed down to a crawl to match her speed. Her friends looked at her with a look of utter perplexity.
She pulled down the window, “Rose?”
She nodded.
“Heard about this wild rave tonight,” she said, snapping her gum loudly.
“Erm…cool,” she said. Why is she telling me this?
“Well, since you’re pretty cool, thought you might be interested,” she said, tossing an invite out the window.
“Oh. Mmm…I see,” she just hoped this conversation would end.
“You coming or what?” her right-hand girl, Harper Keegan, asked, riding shotgun, Harper’s eyes boring, emotionless into hers.
“Maybe,” she said.
“Hope you can make it. Dancing, cool music, sex, drugs, booze…” she winced as she said booze, “good deal,” Cheryl blew a bubble with her gum before she speeded off.
Rose Payne? Invited to a rave? This had to be some kind of practical joke.

She came home, to find him sitting on the worn, brown couch, 3 bottles of vodka on the coffee table beside him.
“Hey, Dad. You okay?” she asked as nicely as possible, dropping her backpack off by the door.
He just grunted and looked at her tiredly.
“What should we do for dinner tonight?” she said, plopping down on the green, weathered chair beside him, trying to make conversation.
“Take-out,” he moaned.
“Take-out it is then. How about Jack in the Box? I know how much you like that.”
He just grunted and nodded.
“Well, I’ll go get it in a few hours.”
He just nodded tiredly back at her.

After talking to her dad, she went back to her room, wondering what she would do about this. She kind of wanted to experience a rave some time in her high school years, but she probably wouldn’t have much fun, since she wasn’t much of a party person, herself.
She sat there, her purple comforter wrapping around the contours of her body, while she listened to Breaking Benjamin, pondering about the decision ahead of her. She was finally relaxed, the music hissing softly into her ears, and a hex of sleepiness overcame her. She yawned, and then slowly, softly, the world around her was as black as Cheryl’s midnight black nails.

“God, dammit!” she woke to the sound of her dad pounding on her locked door. She looked toward her clock. It read 7:15. Her dad sure must be hungry by now.
She leaped off the bed before he got any louder and threw open the door, “Where’s my dinner, eh?”
“Erm…you see, I’m so tired, I just sorta…erm…”
“Stop that mumbling of yours!” he demanded.
“Well, I just drifted off to sleep, sorry. I’ll go get it right now.”
“Hurry then! Haven’t got all night, stupid girl!”
She whirled around on her heels, “Excuse me, but my name happens to be Rose. Not that you care anyway.”
She soon regretted those words, “YOU BETTER GET THAT F*CKING JACK IN THE BOX RIGHT NOW, OR I’LL CHANGE STUPID GIRL TO LIPPY? YA HEAR?”
He shoved $10 at her as she scurried out the door. She power walked down the street, trying to get to town as fast as she could. She knew her father would be boiling over the top when she came home because town was about 2 miles away, and it would take her awhile to get over there. She reconsidered power-walking in that case, and huffed and puffed as she ran, as the rain started trickling down on her.

The comfort of warm fast food and a warm place to shelter her was only moments away.
She walked inside the house; “Got our food, Dad!” she called out in a cheery voice.
She came in to see him on the couch, a hand over his head. He groaned.
Walking closer, she saw bottles of beer littering the coffee table, “Taking so long,” he griped.
“Err…sorry about that. Well, the food’s here now.”
He stood up, “The food’s here now?” silence. “THE BLOODY FOOD’S HERE NOW? WELL, THAT’S JUST GREAT!” she stood there, quaking in fear, “I GOT SICK AND TIRED OF WAITING FOR YOU AND POPPED OPEN SOME F*CKING BOTTLES OF BEER, AND YOU’RE ASKING ME TO EAT A BURGER?”
“Well, you asked me to go get you Jack in the Box.”
“I SURE DID! THOUGHT ABOUT HURRYING UP?”
“Sorry, it was raining….and it’s 2 miles away….”
“EXCUSES AREN’T GOOD ENOUGH! I’M SO DIZZY JUST FROM STANDING UP AND TALKING TO YOU! DO YOU HONESTLY THINK I CAN TAKE THE SMELL OF FAST FOOD??”
“Well, maybe you should’ve thought of that before you drank all those bottles,” she said. Where is this coming from? I never stand up to him…ever, she thought.
His voice dulled, “I can’t take this. Just leave the Jack in the Box’s in the kitchen, and get the hell outta here, ya here?”
She nodded and walked out the door before she could hear another word. The rain had stopped. She went around back and climbed through her window to get Cheryl’s invite….after being kicked out for doing her father a favor, she decided that sulking in the forest wouldn’t help matters at all.
The address was familiar…just a vacant lot on the outskirt of town, only a walk down the road. That she could do.