Only Holding On

The next morning I awoke to the coffee maker murmuring. Coffee. Just what I needed right now. As I sat up I came to discover a kink in my neck from sleeping on the uncomfortable sofa. Now I hurt to motion my head to the right.

I got up from the couch and followed the sound of the maker and the smell of it filling my nostrils to the kitchen. To my surprise, my mother was the one in there. My mother who is practically dead because I never see her anymore. My mother who isn’t even my mother anymore because I have no idea who she is these days. More like past few years.

Ever since she divorced Dad and married the fag she calls her husband, she’s done nothing but work all the time. Days are very rare whenever she comes for more than an hour to pick up something—like coffee. Brayden and I were basically left to fend for ourselves and do everything by ourselves. But I was somehow okay with that.

But as always, I try to put my best foot forward and keep the mood light while it is. That was kind of hard thought when all you could feel, at least I could, was the new awkward tension that has grown between us.
“Hello Mom,” I said; it was even awkward to fall her Mom.
“Hello,” She said shortly, pouring her coffee. “I have to get to work soon.”
That is all she ever said. She has to go to work, she’s going to work, or she has to get to work. My mother has grown more of a relationship with her job more than anything else on this living Earth. Sometimes it just threw my temper off a cliff.
“Of course you do,” I murmured bitterly.
“You know, if you actually got off your ass and got a job instead of just sitting in your room all day with those damn headphones in your ears you’d know it’s not so easy out there!” Mom exclaimed at me. She partially turned to grab her purse off the counter, keeping the bony fingers of her hand firmly on the coffee cup. Then she started to leave the kitchen until made a sudden stop at the doorway. Her hand swirled around to me, eyes piercing through me that used to bring me such joy because I could see happiness in them. Now all I can ever see is angst. But her words cut me more than anything.

“You are the most useless, worthless daughter ever. You can’t do anything with your life.” And at that she left. At the door she called, “your father and I will be home early tonight for dinner. Together.”
Then the door slammed shut.

I couldn’t move. I didn’t move. None of the nerves in my body could work. I was stuck and couldn’t get out of the state I was in, like my feet were glued to where they were. Nothing has struck me like that in such a long time. Not since my parent’s divorce. Not since my childhood dog died. All I could do was stand there holding my breath for I don’t know how long while the coffee cup kept murmuring and silence flowed in the house like nothing ever happened. Just the way her eyes looked when she said that, like there was never any sympathy in them, or agony, just truth and angst. She meant what she said. She’s ashamed to call me her daughter, and that she’s my mother. Like she genuinely wishes I could just leave so she had one less thing to think about and worry about. She wants me to leave and never come back so she doesn’t have to even think about me again. That’s what I saw in her eyes, and the strongness of her words that she spoke. Truthfully.

But no tears came. Nothing came out. Not even a twitch. Then something shook me out of my trance of shock. A groan—from upstairs, one of the girls woke up. The nerves in my body twitched awake as I poured a cup of coffee and traveled up the staircase to my bedroom. As called, Celsi was laying in my bed, rubbing her right hand across her forehead to treat the new hangover that’s greeted her this morning. Nikole, on the other hand, was still passed out beside Celsi on my bed with her back to us and her body to the wall.

“I heard a door slam, and it woke me up,” Celsi groaned with her dry throat to me.
“It was my mom leaving for work,” I explained shortly.
“You mean your mom that practically isn’t your mom,” She corrected. She knew most of the stories of my mom and how she is usually, so she never really asked questions about her unless I brought it up since it was kind of a personal subject of manner to me. So I just nodded to her shortly as I sipped the coffee.

Suddenly Celsi made a gagging noise with her mouth as she jumped to life from the bed and made a run to the bathroom across the hall. This is how the day started.
Eventually, Nikole finally woke up and started puking, too. When they were both satisfyingly mended from their hangovers, they left. Finally, it was just Brayden and I at the house alone so I could sit in my thoughts quietly. Mom was right about one thing, most of the time I did have my iPod headphones in. It was the only way I could really think and get my thoughts together when no one would bother me because I had no way to hear them. I would sit in my room, or Brayden’s room, and just listen to the song playing. Listen for the beat of the drums. The accent the bass added. The edge the electric guitar plays. The meaning of the lyrics. The harmony of it all over. It all became addicting soon enough—different songs with their meanings, and effects. The angry songs about how that one person was such a bitch or why they did what they did; the soft, slow love songs about how the singer would die for their lover; the upbeat songs about having fun and living life; the slow or loud sad songs about someone dying or leaving. But what I really had a thing for were the loud songs. Loud songs that I could hear everything collaborating together in a way that was amazing to listen to. Loud songs that I could hear nothing besides that satisfied me. They gave me the opportunity to think of everything I could, and nothing but. Music let me hear and think. And it was my drug.

Time really flew by because before I knew it, the door flew open at 5 o’clock with both Mark, my faggot step-father, and Mom walking in.
“Hello Kandi,” Mark gave me a small smile with his two lines that he has for lips. I didn’t do anything but stare at him for a few seconds, and looked back away. “Ready for some lasagna?” He tried to sound enthusiastic. I barely ever see this guy, and he’s gonna stroll into my house like we’re one happy family? Fuck that. So I got up from the sofa and stomped up the stairs.

I shut the door behind me as I entered Brayden’s room. When I turned around he was on the floor with his back against the side of his bed as his eyes were attached to the TV screen with his fingers maneuvering the game control in his hands. Again, he was playing his Xbox that he was in love with most of the time.

Brayden’s room was completely different than mine. He had an entertainment center fully stocked with a TV, stereo, Xbox, and movies. His 4 guitars hung on fancy holders in a corner, and he had shelves full of music CDs beside it. All on the walls were posters of The Devil Wears Prada, Paramore (because Hayley Williams is just sooo hot), Bring Me the Horizon, and skateboards. Brayden basically got everything & anything he ever wanted because he was the favorite. Probably because he always sat back and just let life happen and never actually stands up for himself most of the time. I haven’t changed the bed set in my room for about three years; I was lucky just to have a laptop.
So I sat on the floor beside Brayden as he played his Xbox, and I just stared at the TV, seeing nothing. “Mark keeps trying to talk to me.”
His hand never stopped on the control. “Probably because you’re so stubborn.”
“I’m not stubborn,” I snapped. “I just don’t like him—at all.”
“Just give him a chance, at least try. He’s not that bad,” Brayden reasoned.
Silence fell between us then besides the sounds of Brayden’s control moving, and the shooting sounds from the game. I wasn’t going to give him a chance. I didn’t like him, and that was it. No changing that. He married my mother; there must be something wrong with him—as bad as that sounds, but I don’t care. For the next few minutes, I just sat there watching Brayden kill everyone on the opposite army he was on in his computer world.

Suddenly, Mom called us down for our ‘family dinner’ she wanted. Brayden paused his game, and got up from the floor, offering me his hand to help me up. I just stared at it for a moment, deciding if I really wanted to go or not. Finally, I took hold of his hand and got up. This would be me giving Mark a chance. Not for him being such a faggot, not for Mom after what she’d said this morning, only for Brayden because he was my brother.

In the living room, the table was fully set with four plates, four forks, four knives, and four glasses of water with a tray of lasagna in the middle of our little round table. Mark was sitting in a chair on the far left, while Mom sat on the opposite end with no expression whatsoever on her face. She just stared blankly at the tray of lasagna.

“I thought it’d be nice if we all had a family dinner together for once,” Mark said as Brayden and I sat on opposite sides of the table between Mom and him.
No one said anything to his comment, but he dug in to the lasagna with a large square spatula. “Brayden? How ‘bout it, would you like the first piece?” He offered, the piece of food balancing on the spatula.
“Sure,” Brayden nodded, offering his plate. Mark slid it on there, and cut out another piece.
“Would you like this one, Kandi?” He asked. I just stared at the piece for a moment—all the grease gathered at the top with the melted cheese, the sauce oozing out of the sides as the noodles and hamburger meat sat on top of each other. Then my eyes shifted back to Mark’s face.
“No thank you.” I said quietly.
“Are you sure? It looks good. Plus, it’s homemade,” He told me, trying to sound convincing.
“I’m a vegetarian,” I told him.
Mom from the other side of the table scoffed and shook her head. Mark’s attempt to smile fell inch by inch until it was completely gone, and all that was left was the expression of shock in his eyes. “Oh, I had no idea, Kandi.”
“Kandi has been a vegetarian for the past three years or so,” Brayden informed him as he shoved a piece of lasagna in his mouth.

Mom hated the fact that I turned a vegetarian. Repeatedly, she would tell me how ridiculous I’m being, and has to eat meat. She even tried to scare me one time by telling me I wouldn’t get my period and my body would screw up because I don’t have enough protein to produce the blood for it. But no, I’ve still had my period every month from eating protein bars and fake meat. For the longest time, she wouldn’t even make me dinner—when she was home for dinner—to try starving me into eating. At that point, I looked up my own vegetarian dinners and cooked for myself.
“No, you didn’t,” I muttered to him.
“You know, you are going to die from not getting you correct food balance,” Mom said, wagging her fork at me.
That just threw me over the edge, it might as well been the truth in disguise. I slammed my fork down on the table. “I bet you would just love that wouldn’t you, Mom?! Just one less thing to worry about, right?!”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” She yelled at me.
“Why?! It’s not like you care anyway!”
“Don’t talk to your mother like that, Kandi,” Mark sternly told me, as if he really had power over me.
“You don’t tell me what to do. You don’t know a thing about me and have no control over me. You will never be my father!” I yelled, pushing myself out of the table.
“Kandi Madeline Vincent!” Mom screamed. “You are such a bitch!”

“And you are barely my mother! We’re anything but family! Not even close! So Fuck. You!” I screamed back, my hand picking up the plate on the table and slamming it onto the floor in anger. My head was reeling from angst, the kind of madness you can feel when your ears get hot, and I could do nothing but run all the way upstairs and slam the door behind me and locking it once I was in my room. The last thing I heard my mom yell was “Stay up there forever for all I care!”

Hot tears were forming in my eyelids, and my sight started getting misty. I fell into my bed face first, putting my headphones in my ears and turning the volume all the way up to the max. The tears came out heavy and fast. I couldn’t even hear my own sobbing, but all I could do was lay there in my pool of tears for I don’t know how long. Even when I stopped, the scene replayed in my head and it started all over again. It got to the point where I started growing a headache while I was sobbing so hard.

When I assured myself I wasn’t going to start up again, my eyelids started drooping into a long sleep. When I woke up, I heard my phone buzzing. I dug into underneath the pillows until I finally found it, and opened the message. It took a moment to finally see it clearly after all the crying.

Seth: Hey. Its seth. How r u?