Carry On

Dad had said nothing on the way home. He picked me up from Zack's and chatted with the guys for a bit before we took off. As promised, Zack didn't mention anything form earlier to him. I found out that Dad ran off to Matt's for a much needed drink. Val was out with Lacey so they had the house and the liquor cabinet to themselves. They both got drunk and passed out. Dad didn't wake up until Val got home. She was furious of course. If there were anyone who got more angry than Matt, it was Aunt Val. She's the one who ran things in our family. What Val says goes. So when Val told my Dad to send someone to get me, he called Jimmy and Johnny. He didn't send Matt because he too was hungover, and Val was busy letting him have it.

I was hoping to just stay the night at Zack's, or at least get a decent dinner out of it. Dad seemed to only know how to cook spaghetti. When I left Gena wasn't home yet, and Dad insisted we leave so I could go to bed early. He didn't forget about my concert the next day, which I was extremely unhappy about. According to Dad he had invited all five of his immature bandmates, their significant others, and Papa Gates.

If there was anyone more judgmental of my music than my father, it was my grandpa. He preferred to be called Papa Gates, as everyone called him that. He was always on the phone with Dad, asking when my next concert was. Most guitarist learn the music and don't study technique. Dad learned technique when he was young due to his father, which he passed along to me. So of course there was always something to complain about when it came to my playing. My wrist is too high, by fingers aren't straight enough, or they're too straight. They can never make up their minds.

When we finally got home I went straight to the kitchen to grab the box of Cheez-Its before going to head upstairs. Dad was slipping off his shoes and hanging his jacket up when he stopped me, "Hey," He called and I turned to face him. "I'm sorry, okay?" He asked.

I raised an eyebrow, "What did you do?" He never said sorry for anything.

"I fucked up, I know. I went out instead of staying home like a responsible parent, and you missed school because of it. You know that isn't your fault right?"

Liar. It's always my fault.
"Yeah," I shrugged.

"I never wanted to be a deadbeat dad that was never around, you know," He leaned up against the wall, "I wanted to be there for you. You're in your senior year and I stayed out like some twenty year old kid, instead of being here with you. I don't want you to feel neglected."

You abandoned me.
"Jesus Christ, I'm almost eighteen years old, Dad. I think I can handle one night without you here to tuck me in," I stated and he was silent for a while.

"You're right. I'll call the school and clear your absence. Besides, you have a big day tomorrow," He smiled, "You're going to make the entire family proud."

It's just a concert.
"Yeah," I muttered before turning on my heels and heading upstairs to my room. Safe. I shut my door behind me, and I could hear my dad heading downstairs to the studio. I honestly don't know why he doesn't put a bed in there and just never come out.

I thought about the concert. I had thought I was ready. I usually was. But I had ditched rehearsal and had practiced so much less. I didn't even have my solo piece memorized. And if I didn't play that right, Dad will flip his lid again. Him being upset at my behavior is one thing, but if there's one thing I know it's that Dad takes my music very seriously. One mistake and I'm done for.

I looked over to my window, still open from when I let Michael in to drop off my stash. Anxiety filled me asI walked over, feeling a draft fill the room. Like ghosts dancing around me. I went to close the window, but I looked out.

Jump.

I took deep breaths. I could end my life right now. I could throw one leg over, and just let go. No more concerts, no more Dad, no more life. It all seemed to perfect.

Jump.

But I loved Dad. Of course I did. It's why I'm so hurt when he yells at me. I can't deny that. And despite how annoying they are, I loved the rest of my family.

Jump.

But they caused me the most pain in my life. Revenge had never seemed so enticing. Jumping out of a window on the second story of a mansion, just to smite them. How tragic.
Beautifully. Horrifically. Tragic.

Jump.

"No," I whispered, shaking my head. Jump. "No," I repeated, slamming the window shut and taking a step away. My heart beat faster as I realized I was no longer in control. I felt like suffocating. I couldn't understand why half of my mind wanted to die, and the other wanted to live. I stepped back, further away from the window. I could see myself jumping out, as if I was on the outside of my body. I would turn back with a smile, before leaping out. Coming to a half on the pavement, my limbs twisted, eyes wide, and my smile still in place.

I wanted to scream, but I knew Dad would still hear me, even if he was in the studio. Panic rose through me as I thought of my horrifying body twisted on the cement below. I put a hand over my mouth to stop the sobs, and I tried to choke back tears. I could feel my throat closing, my lungs collapsing. Maybe I would just die right now, not even by my own hand. But something deep inside me wanted my death to only happen by my hand. And somehow I knew sooner or later it would.

And suddenly it was dark.

-

I cringed when Amanda slammed her locker, "What's with you?"

"Headache," I muttered and she nodded, understanding. I had passed out after my little panic attack last night. I slept like a baby the whole night, but woke up with a headache the size of an earthquake.

"So have you gotten your car back yet?" She asked and I nodded. Dad gave me my keys this morning, seeing as I had a concert today. He asked me to promise to not drive off without telling him where I was going. I grabbed the keys and left, not saying anything to him. He wasn't happy about that, as he texted me five minutes later in all caps telling me to be responsible for once, but I also ignored that. He should know that sooner or later I'm going to do something to piss him off, "Tonight after the concert all of the seniors are going to hang out. I think we're going to get pizza or something."

"Cool, you want me to drive?" I asked and she shook her head.

"To be honest, you've left us twice already because you don't tell your dad anything. Alicia and I have opted to drive ourselves," She said and I scoffed, "I don't understand why you're so harsh to him. I mean, you're so lucky. Your dad does a lot for you."

"Amanda, I love you, but please don't try to educate me on my life. I think I know what the fuck I'm doing," I stated before walking off. I sighed. My friendships were failing because of this. Pretty soon I'd be completely alone.

I had made it through the first three classes without fail. A couple late assignments, but that's it. Two of my grades had dropped to B's, and I knew I would have to get them back to A's before reports came out the following week. Dad never accepted anything less than A's. Mainly because he knew very well that I was capable of A's. He didn't understand that I couldn't always keep up with the work. Having late assignments and missing an entire day of classes didn't really help either.

It was in between classes when I saw Michael. I was quick to glare at him, grabbing him by his jacket, and pushing him against a locker, "What the fuck did you give me?" I demanded and his eyes got wide.

"Shit, Liz. I'm sorry, I gave you the wrong bag. I gave you some really heavy shit that was supposed to be for Cory," He stated.

"And you didn't think to call and tell me that why?"

"I ditched second block and went back to your house as soon as I realized. Cory called me all pissed because it wasn't what he wanted either. I panicked because I didn't know if you could handle that stuff. So I drove back to make sure you were okay. I freaked when I climbed up to your window and you weren't there. When I was leaving I saw two guys with tattoos with you in the driveway. I assumed they were your uncles, so I let it go."

"Ugh. You're so lucky my dad didn't find out. I would not hesitate to beat the shit out of you. And you know I'm capable of doing so," I growled.

"I'm sorry, Liz. I promise the next stash is on me, okay? We can smoke this weekend if you want. I'll make it up to you."

"You better, Michael," I stated before pushing him away, heading off to class as the bell rang.

Michael and I had been friends since freshman year. We tried weed together and he was quick to get with the 'in crowd'. I followed suit, having been associated with him, before he started selling to his friends - me included. Aside from Alicia and Amanda, Michael probably understood me the most. Probably because he was the only one of the three that smoked with me. Amanda didn't want to jeopardize her voice and Alicia was just a prude.

I sighed as I reached the music hall. Everyone was already setting up for the concert tonight, including Amanda and Alicia. Both of who ignored me in class earlier. I entered the room, walking straight to my locker and grabbing my guitar.

I really hated my guitar. It was a Synyster Gates model from 2011, just revamped. Dad had a custom one made for me. White with gold stripes. I also had a strap that matched his, black. I hated being associated with him, and the guitar was just over the top. I was glad that in concerts I sat in the back, but people still saw me.

"That girl in the back is that one rockstar's daughter."
"That guy in that one band has a daughter that goes here."
"That one girl has a father in a rock band."

I had expressed many times to Dad that I didn't want that guitar, and wanted a different one. He was the same every time I asked. He always told me to appreciate what I had, because it was his guitar. I should be proud to have such an honor high enough to play his model. I had also told Zack plenty of times that I wanted a different one. When I was thirteen Zack told me he would see what he could do. But Dad apparently made him promise to not get me a new one. It was one thing that Dad was extremely firm about. The one thing I probably didn't like Zacky for.

I set my guitar on the stand before grabbing a chair and a music stand. I put my songs in order, including my solo that I was not prepared for. I had four weeks to prepare, but hardly practiced. Sure, I could sightread the music and just wing it, really. Which is what I would do. I'd improvise if worse comes to worse.