Status: Active, work on it every now and then.
The Simplest Thing in the World
Eight
When we got back to the apartment, I went straight for my room. I just wanted to day to end. I wanted to go home. I wanted to see Zoe. I wanted to kiss Sean. I wanted to be with my parents. My door was cracked slightly. I figured Orion had sneaked in while we’d been gone. I opened the door with a push to find Ruth standing in front of my bed rummaging through my open suitcase. She held my family photo album in her hands, and I saw my journal thrown to the side. Anger coursed through my body. I broke. Before I could stop myself, I ran over to her snatching it from her hand.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?! That’s mine you crazy, old cow! Keep your hands off my things! These are PRIVATE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? PRIVATE!”
Tears streaked down my cheeks. My eyes burned and stung from the salt water flowing from them. Ruth, for once, didn’t look angry. She wasn’t scowling. She looked…scared frightened.
“GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE!”
I shoved her out of the room, slamming the door behind her and continued to scream.
“THESE ARE PRIVATE! DON”T TOUCH MY FAMILY! YOU.” Sob. “CRAZY.” Sob. “HOW DARE.” Sob. “YOU!”
I could hear Harold knocking on my door.
“Celia?! Celia?! What’s going on?!” He asked anxiously.
“GO AWAY!” I screamed at him.
I threw myself down on my bed and buried my face into the pillow, soaking it with my tears.
After a half hour or so, the tears subsided. Basically, they stopped because I didn’t have any left. Instead, I was left with a lot of dry heaving and a lot of snot coming from my nose. Grabbing a Kleenex from my suitcase, I opened up my photo album, flipping through all the memories I had with my parents. There was a picture of my parents and myself sitting around the dining room table on my fifth birthday. I dry heaved some more and ran my fingers over their faces softly as if I were actually touching them.
“I miss you. I miss you so much.”
Later that night, I woke up to crying. It took me a moment to realize that it was coming from across the hall, in Ruth and Harold’s room. The tears were definitely Ruth’s.
“She had a picture of Carter,” she sobbed. “But he was older. He was…old.”
“Yes, I know, Sweetheart,” said Harold.
“I don’t understand.” The bed squeaked under their weight.
“Carter is all grown up now. I’ve told you this. Carter and Cynthia. Remember Cynthia? You loved her, remember? They got married. Celia is their daughter. Celia is your granddaughter. We’ve talked about this.”
“That’s not possible.” She cried some more, and I forced myself to drift back to sleep.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?! That’s mine you crazy, old cow! Keep your hands off my things! These are PRIVATE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT? PRIVATE!”
Tears streaked down my cheeks. My eyes burned and stung from the salt water flowing from them. Ruth, for once, didn’t look angry. She wasn’t scowling. She looked…scared frightened.
“GET OUT! GET OUT OF HERE!”
I shoved her out of the room, slamming the door behind her and continued to scream.
“THESE ARE PRIVATE! DON”T TOUCH MY FAMILY! YOU.” Sob. “CRAZY.” Sob. “HOW DARE.” Sob. “YOU!”
I could hear Harold knocking on my door.
“Celia?! Celia?! What’s going on?!” He asked anxiously.
“GO AWAY!” I screamed at him.
I threw myself down on my bed and buried my face into the pillow, soaking it with my tears.
After a half hour or so, the tears subsided. Basically, they stopped because I didn’t have any left. Instead, I was left with a lot of dry heaving and a lot of snot coming from my nose. Grabbing a Kleenex from my suitcase, I opened up my photo album, flipping through all the memories I had with my parents. There was a picture of my parents and myself sitting around the dining room table on my fifth birthday. I dry heaved some more and ran my fingers over their faces softly as if I were actually touching them.
“I miss you. I miss you so much.”
***
Later that night, I woke up to crying. It took me a moment to realize that it was coming from across the hall, in Ruth and Harold’s room. The tears were definitely Ruth’s.
“She had a picture of Carter,” she sobbed. “But he was older. He was…old.”
“Yes, I know, Sweetheart,” said Harold.
“I don’t understand.” The bed squeaked under their weight.
“Carter is all grown up now. I’ve told you this. Carter and Cynthia. Remember Cynthia? You loved her, remember? They got married. Celia is their daughter. Celia is your granddaughter. We’ve talked about this.”
“That’s not possible.” She cried some more, and I forced myself to drift back to sleep.
♠ ♠ ♠
This section of the story was actually pretty hard to write. It made me so sad.-Darc