When I Met You
Then I Met You
When I Met You
Chapter Two: Then I Met You
Glass, clouded my vision. Glass that stained liquor and the smell of cigarette smoke. A groan escaped my lips as I dragged myself out of sleep. I sit up from the dirty old cot that could barely be called a bed.
The sun shined though the window almost blinded me but I did not found this strange. The fact that my father was overly quiet scared me. He never been this quiet in the morning. He usually, kick my door and yell at me to get up.
I got up from the bed, still dressed from yesterday.
My hair stuck to my face due of the sweat and grind. I walked out of my room and to the kitchen. The house wasn't big, just a small 2 bedroom house.
The floor board was a mess.
The wallpaper was torn off from the walls along with the pictures of mom.
Dishes piled up in the sink,
and the trash over flowing the trashcan.
Then I saw him. My father laid on the floor passed out; a bottle of beer tilted from his hand.
Bitterly, I removed the bottle from his hand and onto the counter, where used paper plates laid with cigarette wrappers. Memories of last night replayed in my head.
I cannot escape.
Death wouldn't allow it and here goes my Saturday morning cleaning.
Afternoon soon came and He began to wake up from his slumber. His voice was the same. Demanding, I receive a slap on my cheek for not waking him earlier.
“Stupid, bitch.” He kept on muttering under his breathe as he stumbled to the bathroom.
My cheek throbbed, but the feelings in my heart was gone, caged in. I don't feel anything anymore and I sometimes wonder if it's because I was so used to this that I don't care anymore.
I went to the stove and started cooking lunch and at this moment a murderous thought passed though my mind.
I could poison him.
I could kill him, but I shook my head ashamed.
I was not a murderer.
The day flew by, and dad left the house for the night. Getting, drunk, most likely.
He reminded every chore I had to do, everything I wasn't allow to do in my head threatened to beat, cut or burn me if I dare to disobey.
This abuse wasn't normal, oh well I was reliving this hell.
A boy, that looked around my age came knocking on the door around 8pm. He had long black haired that reached just below his cheek. His jaded eyes stared directly into my in somewhat confusion.
“Um hi?” I whispered; this wasn't in my memories. I was speechless, he smiled and at that moment I was hooked.
“I take it John isn't home?” He guessed; how he knew my father I was utterly clueless.
“He left about a hour ago.” I replied. The boy in front of me didn't say anything for a minute, he shown a moment of frustration before he shook it off.
“Thanks for telling me. My name is Elias Breaux, a friend of you're father's.”
My eye brow lifted.
My father's friend? He was way too young. Now taking in another glance at this boy, he most likely would be just a few years older than her.
“Alice,”
He smiled once more.
“Well Alice can you tell you're father I came by?”
Chapter Two: Then I Met You
Glass, clouded my vision. Glass that stained liquor and the smell of cigarette smoke. A groan escaped my lips as I dragged myself out of sleep. I sit up from the dirty old cot that could barely be called a bed.
The sun shined though the window almost blinded me but I did not found this strange. The fact that my father was overly quiet scared me. He never been this quiet in the morning. He usually, kick my door and yell at me to get up.
I got up from the bed, still dressed from yesterday.
My hair stuck to my face due of the sweat and grind. I walked out of my room and to the kitchen. The house wasn't big, just a small 2 bedroom house.
The floor board was a mess.
The wallpaper was torn off from the walls along with the pictures of mom.
Dishes piled up in the sink,
and the trash over flowing the trashcan.
Then I saw him. My father laid on the floor passed out; a bottle of beer tilted from his hand.
Bitterly, I removed the bottle from his hand and onto the counter, where used paper plates laid with cigarette wrappers. Memories of last night replayed in my head.
I cannot escape.
Death wouldn't allow it and here goes my Saturday morning cleaning.
Afternoon soon came and He began to wake up from his slumber. His voice was the same. Demanding, I receive a slap on my cheek for not waking him earlier.
“Stupid, bitch.” He kept on muttering under his breathe as he stumbled to the bathroom.
My cheek throbbed, but the feelings in my heart was gone, caged in. I don't feel anything anymore and I sometimes wonder if it's because I was so used to this that I don't care anymore.
I went to the stove and started cooking lunch and at this moment a murderous thought passed though my mind.
I could poison him.
I could kill him, but I shook my head ashamed.
I was not a murderer.
The day flew by, and dad left the house for the night. Getting, drunk, most likely.
He reminded every chore I had to do, everything I wasn't allow to do in my head threatened to beat, cut or burn me if I dare to disobey.
This abuse wasn't normal, oh well I was reliving this hell.
A boy, that looked around my age came knocking on the door around 8pm. He had long black haired that reached just below his cheek. His jaded eyes stared directly into my in somewhat confusion.
“Um hi?” I whispered; this wasn't in my memories. I was speechless, he smiled and at that moment I was hooked.
“I take it John isn't home?” He guessed; how he knew my father I was utterly clueless.
“He left about a hour ago.” I replied. The boy in front of me didn't say anything for a minute, he shown a moment of frustration before he shook it off.
“Thanks for telling me. My name is Elias Breaux, a friend of you're father's.”
My eye brow lifted.
My father's friend? He was way too young. Now taking in another glance at this boy, he most likely would be just a few years older than her.
“Alice,”
He smiled once more.
“Well Alice can you tell you're father I came by?”