We All Work To Survive

I stared blankly up at the ceiling. Counting cracks, drawing imaginary lines between dots, and glaring at every little speck of paint that wasn’t supposed to be there. I was trying to keep my mind off the fact that I had to go back to school tomorrow. School. I loathed that place. There was only one other place that I could think of that was worse than the large building. And there was no way that I was going there. Ever. As my hazel eyes slid from dot to dot, there was a small knock on my door. “Yeah?” It slid open with squeak, then there were footsteps coming up the stairs, revealing my mom.

“Hey, sweetheart, you all ready for tomorrow?” She didn’t venture farther than a couple steps from the top of the steps leading to my attic bedroom. She never did. I suspected it was because she was still a little wary about me living her. But I would never flat out ask her. The blonde would only tell me that it was because she wanted me to feel like I was being given my space. Except she was afraid that she was going to give me too much space. That I was going to off myself the minute she didn’t have someone checking up on me.

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” She examined my face for any hint that I was lying then let out a sigh.

“Alright.” She turned to leave when I opened my mouth again.

“Hey mom?” She turned back around. “You do know that I’m depressed, not suicidal, right?” I sat up, making sure that she heard me.

“Yeah, honey, I know. I just worry about you sometimes. You don’t go anywhere. You don’t do anything.” She smiled softly, revealing her perfectly straight teeth. Everything about my family was perfect.

“Oh, that’s not fair. I went shopping with Kara yesterday.” I made a grand gesture towards the mountain of new clothes that I had yet to put away. Most of them were probably only going to be worn when I was forced to wear them. But that was better than having no clothes to wear. Besides, my mom had said to just go for it. And handed me the credit card. I hadn’t even gotten anywhere near the insane limit she had given me. No more than a thousand dollars a day. So I could potentially spend seven thousand a week. And she was totally okay with that. Granted, my mom and stepdad did make bank. They didn’t really have to worry about money. My mom was some sort of business and financial consultant. My step-dad was a big time sports agent. He took the occasional trip to New York and down to LA. But usually he was at his office in some building in downtown Beacon Hills. So we were pretty much set.

“Alright, I’ll give you that. Dinner is going to be ready in a few minutes.” She smiled before disappearing down the stairs. I let out a sigh and pulled myself off the bed. A few minutes meant that I need to go set the table. I trudged down the two flights of stairs, being careful to avoid any random piles of paper or articles of clothing. As I went to pull the usual plates out of the cabinet, my eyes caught sight of the slightly fancier dining set already placed on the dining room table.

“Uh, mom? Are there people coming over?” She poked her head out of the kitchen to look at me like I was an alien.

“Yes, I told you this morning that Charlie invited the lawyer and his family over. I told you dinner was almost ready so that you could get ready. It’s even on the calendar in the mud room.” I narrowed my eyes at the empty doorway she had previously been in. After racking my brain for a minute, I vaguely remembered her telling me something about a dinner this morning. But I was too tired to register it. Christ, this woman should know by now that I don’t function properly in the morning hours. Any time before nine o’clock I had the mental capacity of an eight-year-old. Just enough brains to stay alive, but not enough to remember anything that happened. “Why are you still standing there? They’re going to be here any minute. Get upstairs and get dressed.”

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” The question came out automatically. I glanced down at my outfit and visibly cringed. The midriff baring tanktop and too big sweatpants were not an acceptable outfit for company. “Nevermind. I’ll be back down in like five minutes tops.” My legs were taking the steps two at a time before I really realized it. I had five minutes to make myself presentable.

My closet was a mess. There was no way that I was finding something to wear in that disaster zone. I started to panic. What the hell was I going to wear? Then the pile of bags landed in my view. Perfect. There was definitely something in there that would do. At least one of the outfits had to be good enough to have a nice dinner with the Wittemore family.