Status: Sorry to leave you hanging guys! The keyboard on my laptop is malfunctioning.
Stop Pretending That You're Sorry
7
I finished my cigarette and headed inside, leaving Anthony alone once more.
Fuck him, stupid, two-faced son of a bitch.
You may have noticed that I say fuck this and fuck that a lot. If you have a problem with that, well fuck you. I’m an angsty little slut, I know.
Uninterested in dealing with my whacked out mother who was currently slumped over on the floor next to the stairs, I completely ignored her and headed up to my room.
I hated that room. It was so drab and depressing with it’s bare white walls and worn wood floor. The blue blankets and sheets added a little bit of color, but not nearly enough. The walls needed color too, but painting on your own is lonely as all hell. Painting with Anthony sounded even worse.
There was always the possibility of asking Katie and Julia for help, but I didn’t want them to see where I lived or meet my family. Plus they’d spend more time licking the inside of each other’s mouths than painting.
Unpacking the two boxes and the giant suitcase I had sounded like a good idea, it also might add some life to the place. My dad died and out of the house I only had two boxes and a suitcase full of shit? Well, to be honest I kind of had a little breakdown when it came to sorting out all of the stuff, especially when half of it brought up painful memories. So, my aunt rented me a storage unit and packed away all the shit left over in that house. Basically all of the shit that wasn’t solely mine.
I had only taken one thing that belonged to dad. He was an artist and a smoker with a hacking cough so he always kept a handkerchief in his back pocket to wipe paint on or yack into. I kept his favorite red one, with the big blue splotch of paint in the corner.
Originally when I had taken it, I planned on keeping it on my person at every moment, but as it turns out I buried it at the bottom of my suitcase and avoided the hell out of it.
I’m a champ when it comes to handling death (not really).
Back to the suitcase. I unzipped it, revealing clothes that used to be folded but became mussed when I jumbled around in there for school clothes early in the morning. There was also my laptop and quite the collection of shoes. It was kind of impressive how many shoes I could fit in there along with everything else.
I was just about to start unloading when I realized I didn’t have any hangers or a dresser or really anything apart from my shit mattress with sky blue sheets. There really wasn’t any time to go shopping though, since it was already 6:00 and Anthony probably wanted to make dinner. Maybe I could sneak out under the pretenses of buying food for dinner.
So I headed back downstairs and when asked by Anthony, “Where the fuck you going?”
I answered, “To the market to get shit to eat. I’m making you dinner.”
“That a girl!”
Fuck you Anthony, fuck you.
Fuck him, stupid, two-faced son of a bitch.
You may have noticed that I say fuck this and fuck that a lot. If you have a problem with that, well fuck you. I’m an angsty little slut, I know.
Uninterested in dealing with my whacked out mother who was currently slumped over on the floor next to the stairs, I completely ignored her and headed up to my room.
I hated that room. It was so drab and depressing with it’s bare white walls and worn wood floor. The blue blankets and sheets added a little bit of color, but not nearly enough. The walls needed color too, but painting on your own is lonely as all hell. Painting with Anthony sounded even worse.
There was always the possibility of asking Katie and Julia for help, but I didn’t want them to see where I lived or meet my family. Plus they’d spend more time licking the inside of each other’s mouths than painting.
Unpacking the two boxes and the giant suitcase I had sounded like a good idea, it also might add some life to the place. My dad died and out of the house I only had two boxes and a suitcase full of shit? Well, to be honest I kind of had a little breakdown when it came to sorting out all of the stuff, especially when half of it brought up painful memories. So, my aunt rented me a storage unit and packed away all the shit left over in that house. Basically all of the shit that wasn’t solely mine.
I had only taken one thing that belonged to dad. He was an artist and a smoker with a hacking cough so he always kept a handkerchief in his back pocket to wipe paint on or yack into. I kept his favorite red one, with the big blue splotch of paint in the corner.
Originally when I had taken it, I planned on keeping it on my person at every moment, but as it turns out I buried it at the bottom of my suitcase and avoided the hell out of it.
I’m a champ when it comes to handling death (not really).
Back to the suitcase. I unzipped it, revealing clothes that used to be folded but became mussed when I jumbled around in there for school clothes early in the morning. There was also my laptop and quite the collection of shoes. It was kind of impressive how many shoes I could fit in there along with everything else.
I was just about to start unloading when I realized I didn’t have any hangers or a dresser or really anything apart from my shit mattress with sky blue sheets. There really wasn’t any time to go shopping though, since it was already 6:00 and Anthony probably wanted to make dinner. Maybe I could sneak out under the pretenses of buying food for dinner.
So I headed back downstairs and when asked by Anthony, “Where the fuck you going?”
I answered, “To the market to get shit to eat. I’m making you dinner.”
“That a girl!”
Fuck you Anthony, fuck you.
♠ ♠ ♠
You may have noticed I'm trying to post two chapters a day. Are you guys okay with that, or would you rather me slow down? Let me know. I want to make my readers happy. :)