Carry On

"You have it a lot better than other kids, Liz. You don't have anything to complain about."

Liza had heard that phrase plenty of times. It was a small conscience that would always follow her, whispering in her ear. She would hear it from everyone. Her father, her god father, her nagging uncle, her aunt, her mother. It was endless. Liza couldn't make them understand, so she stopped trying to. She went on in silence.

She sat in a trance on the counter, her leg tapping ever-so-slightly on the cabinet below her. The rhythmic tapping went unnoticed by her, just mindless movement as her blank mind stared out the window. Her glossy eyes traveled to the open sea, and for a split moment she wondered what it would be like if she had tossed herself over the pier one day.

"Can you not," A sharp voice brought her from her thoughts. She turned her head slowly to look over at the voice. His eyes were sharply fixated on her moving leg. She stopped her movement and he sighed, turning back to the stove, "Are you high or something?"

I wish.
"No."

"You keep staring out into that ocean like you'll toss yourself into it," He stated.

Maybe I will
"I miss the beach."

"You're right here. You can go any time."

If I do I just might jump.
"Yeah I know."

He sighed again, tossing the plain noodles onto a plate before pouring spaghetti sauce on top. Liza wouldn't remind her father that it was her least favorite dish in the world, even though he seemed to have forgotten. He handed her the plate and a fork before starting to walk out of the kitchen. "Where are you going?" She asked, not thinking before she spoke. She hardly ever asked questions anymore.

"I'll be in the studio. Try not to bother me," He stated before turning back around, "And for God's sake, if you leave will you at least text me?" He asked in an exasperated voice, remembering last Tuesday when she had slipped out of the house unnoticed. This action sent him into a fit and she was refused her television for a week.

Whatever.

She hopped off the counter, ready to head upstairs to her room. She had ten pages of math homework due the following day and she still had yet to finish her essay for history. She took her plate upstairs with her, despite her ever-growing hate for spaghetti. She would need some sort of food to make it through the night. Her father hated it whenever she made the wooden floors creak past midnight.

Just as she was about to make her flight up the stairs, she heard her front door open and she sighed. She stopped, turned around and walked to the hall to find her uncle looking into her father's front office in search of him, "Brian?" He called and she huffed.

"He's downstairs in the studio. His specific instructions were to not bother him," She stated, crossing her arms over her chest, "But I'm sure you're an exception, Uncle Matt."

He rolled his eyes, "Shouldn't you be doing homework?" He asked.

"Shouldn't you be in your own house?" She questioned back and she could see a small smile tug in the corner of his upper lip.

"Val kicked me out for an hour. She's on a massive cleaning spree," He explained shortly, "How's school?"

"I hate it. Which is a lot better than last week when I loathed it," She replied and he once again rolled his eyes.

"It's your senior year, Liza. Don't fuck it up. You have too much ahead of you. When do you start college applications anyways?"

Liza didn't want to go to college, particularly, but she didn't want to live off of her father for the rest of her life either. She had no idea what she would do with her life, so she was simply waiting until her father told her what to do, like always, "Soon."

He took that as a sign as she didn't want to speak anymore, so he shrugged and walked off towards the set of stairs that led off to the studio. It was a million dollar state of the art studio that Brian had worked on for years when Liza was still a child. Now that it was complete, he was almost never upstairs anymore.

Liza dropped her plate off in the sink, dumping out the pasta. It was cold anyhow, due to her extended conversation with her uncle, and she didn't bother. She opted for a water bottle and a handful of Goldfish, seeing as it was the only food left in the house. Her father hated grocery shopping almost as much as Liza hated school.

She sauntered off to her room, shutting the door behind her. It was the biggest room in the house. After her mother had left, her father no longer wanted to stay in the master bedroom anymore. Liza was about to turn twelve, and he figured she was old enough to have such a large room and closet. She took over with the help of her father's friends to move her things in, and his things out. The balcony over-looked the ocean, but she hardly went out there. She could feel her body shake with the anticipation of yearning to jump off and plummet to the concrete below her.

She walked over to her desk, setting her water down and sighing. She looked at the books and papers covering the wooden desk and she could feel the familiar feeling of anxiety creeping up her chest. Her eyes couldn't focus on all of the work she had to do. She had books piled on top of one another, and she had suddenly remembered she had an art project due the next day also. Her hands shook as she took a step forward, sifting through the papers as she attempted to decide what to start first. She couldn't fathom how she was going to finish by eight the following morning.

She thought about jumping.