***You

I’ve spent a good whole of the past few weeks mentally killing myself over and over in as many ways possible. Ever since the pack up, move, and unpack of our entire lives all the way from the east coast to the west coast with my bickering parents right in the middle. I’m lucky to have survived it.

I finish dabbing on makeup in my new mirror. Just a little bit of mascara and eyeliner around my green eyes and a nude lipstick. I then move on to combing at the little knots that formed in my long, wavy auburn hair then rub in a bit of product to keep from frizzing before throwing a beanie on top, pleased with my appearance. I’m headed back to school to complete the last semester of my junior year in the middle of March, but I don’t care because words cannot describe how ecstatic I am to get away from my fucking parents.

I slip my size 9 lace less Vans on my feet before bounding down the stairs hopefully. I stop at the bottom and sigh sadly when I hear a pair of voices progressively getting louder. They were screaming at each other about a few misplaced items when we were moving. Simple things such as toothbrushes, deodorant and razors.

“Indigo, have you seen my combs?” My mother asked with the snootiest tone possible as I stepped into the kitchen.

“No. It’s not my responsibility to know,” I replied coolly.

My mother turned back to my father, “You must’ve done it, then. You’re always touching shit you’re not supposed to!”

I decided to leave early at that point and walk to school. I scooped up my backpack, slinging it over my shoulder and slamming the door without a word as I stepped into the cool Westchester air. God only knows why my parents are still together, all they do is fight. I know my dad has hit her a few times, and it’s only getting worse, as he has taken it out on me as well. It used to be perfect; a pair of high school sweethearts just married in their twenties with a baby girl on the way. They had known each other since grade school and were the best of friends. They were supportive and each relied on the other. Nowadays, they can’t get enough time away. Neither of them can hold a steady job and my mom was suffering from substance abuse. They had agreed on one thing, which was moving from depressing Seattle, Washington to ‘beautiful’ Westchester, Pennsylvania. I have some cousins up here that my parents believe will be able to ‘help them recover from the recent unfortunate events.’ Which is code for ‘give us money because we’re dead beats.’

I was finally just a couple blocks away from my school when I saw a group of boys in a market parking lot about my age that were clearly up to something frowned upon. I decided to slow my pace and watch them. There were four of them. One was tall, lanky and balding slightly and was sitting in a shopping cart. Another was blonde, slightly chubby, had a beard and was pushing the boy in the shopping cart across the lot. The third one I couldn’t see because he was hidden behind a video camera and filming the two boys. The last one was a curly brown haired boy with a skateboard, laughing his ass off at the scene unfolding before him.

I watched as the blonde man let go of the cart, now rolling across the pavement at a ridiculous pace, and stood grinning as the cart hit a curb and the guy inside was launched out of it. I cringed as the boy crashed into a bush then rolled out of it, groaning. I wanted to run over to him and see if he was alright but he jumped right back up as his friends ran over to him. I picked up my pace as I tried to walk by inconspicuously before I heard the boy with the skateboard yell, “Hey, you!”