Death is Black and White

My dad picked me up the next morning. No one has come to visit me since Miranda and my Mom left, and Dad didn't say much until we got in the car.

He turns off the music and I sit with my hands in my lap, counting the yellow lines that separate traffic before they disappear underneath the car. "What the hell happened?" He asks after a while.

"Miranda threw a pillow at me in the living room and a bookend hit my head," I say monotonously, not wanting to talk but to turn the music back on so loud that I can't hear anything. I know that I'm lying, that it wasn't Miranda that landed my ass in the hospital, but I'm pissed at her for not siding with me back there.

"No, smart-ass," Dad snaps. That's not good...Dad's never angry. "I want to know why the hell I'm here picking you up and taking you home so you can pack up and live with me for Winter break. I want to know why your mother is being questioned by the police for child abuse. What the hell were you thinking?"

I wish he'd shut up. I'm sick of thinking, sick of being asked questions all the time. I'm worn out.

He just drawls on and on and on and on. "You know your mother didn't want to hurt you. And she barely did. You're being a child, Lydia, and I'm extremely disappointed in you. I don't know where you learned that it's acceptable to act like this, but it's got to stop."

"And since when do you care about what Mom does? You're divorced. Who gives a shit if she's being questioned? I can't even believe you're siding with her."

"Just because we're not married any more it doesn't mean I don't still care whether she's being arrested or not! And don't say shit."

I roll my eyes. "You parents are so controlling. Of what I do. Of what I say. Soon you'll be telling me what to wear, who to hang out with, when I can and can't drink water. And anyways, I'm the victim here. She hit me, remember? She deserves this."

My dad's silent, but I can hear his ragged breathing, like maybe he wants to hit me too. When my dad gets mad, all hell breaks loose. Under normal circumstances, I would have backed off or crawled under a rock or something, but I'm still pissed off.

"Listen to me, Lydia. And don't talk back or I'll really give you something to cry about, far worse than what your mother gave you. I'm the adult here, and what I say goes. So that's no cussing. No trash talking me or your mother. Miranda, too. I don't give a shit if you just got stitches, you're still a kid. Now end of subject."

"Is that a threat?"

He slams on the breaks. "Yes! Now not another fucking word until we get back. Pack your stuff, then meet me back at the car. Or I'll just drop you back off at the hospital and let them deal with you."

I'm at a loss for words, my eyes tearing up. We ride the rest of the way in silence and I think of all the places I'd rather be than in this car.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~_~

"And he's making me stay with him for Winter break! He's fucking mental, that's what he is! I won't even get to see you guys! Ugh!" I practically scream into the phone, throwing my sketchbook and pencils into my canvas bag.

Sam hesitates for a while. I pack my favorite sweatshirt, a few tubes of paint, and grab my ipod before she finally says, "I can't believe your mom's being questioned by the police..."

She sounds lost, like she doesn't know what to do with herself. "Well she deserved it, Sam! God, I am so done talking about this! Maybe I can convince my dad to have you come with me."

"Lemme talk to her," I hear on the other end. It's Adam.

"Lydia?" He says into the speaker. I roll my eyes.

"Yeah?"

"You need to chill."

"Excuse me!?" I snap.

"You. Need. To. Chill," he says slowly, like I'm special needs or something. "You're not being yourself. I think your pain meds are messing with your brain."

"Oh, yeah? Well I'm glad you're here to tell me that I'm not being me. Classy, Adam."

"No, seriously. You're really pissy, like at everyone. Sam won't say it to your face but I know she's thinking it, too. Just think about it, okay? Like, you totally got your mom arrested. You cussed out your dad. Would you have done that a week ago? This head injury is making you into a bitch. You need to get your shit together."

I want to punch him. Or something. "I don't think you understand. They shaved my fucking head. In the back there's no hair. Do you expect me to be fucking calm?"

"Dude, chill. It's just hair," he comments.

I raise my eyebrows, even if he can't see. "Yeah? Well easy for you to say, dude! You're a guy!"

"Just think about it, okay?"

I'm about to protest but then I hear a click, and the receiver goes dead. Thanks, asshole, for hanging up on me. I throw my phone under my bed and head back to my dad's car. Suddenly, getting away from my "friends" seems to be the most appealing thing that's happened all week.