Status: I Want Sprinkles On That Shit

Don't Try to Save Me


To say I'm not impressed is probably the biggest understatement ever. 

We both just sit in the car, staring at our new home. Linda's hand is resting on the door handle, but she doesn't move. 

"This is it?" I asked flatly. 

She just nods and opens the door, leaving me inside the car. I'm not living here. Absolutely no fucking way am I going to live in that house for 12 months. Not happening. 

The house looks like something out of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre (the 1974 version, obviously, duh). It was a huge house made out of wood painted white and a slate roof, a big porch running along the front of the house, giant dim windows and a curved turret that ran up the left side of the house, a small weather vane on top of the slanted slate roof. I could make out another huge building in the background of the house. 

A barn. We had a fucking barn

I eventually got out of the car and trudged up the steps to the front door, eyeing the porch swing uneasily, expecting Leather Face to coming jumping out at me, wielding his chainsaw.

I pushed open the door and found myself stood in the surprisingly light  but empty hallway, my eyes travelling over the huge staircase in front of me. There were still boxes piled up in corners and bin bags slung amongst them. 

I cringed as the stairs creaked beneath my feet, loud and obnoxious. Normally I'd be worried about creaking stairs, because it would mess up my chances of sneaking out at night, but it didn't look as if there'd be much of that going on round here in fucking hill billy town. 

The upstairs of the house was similar to the downstairs, even brighter due to the sun roofs set into the ceiling above the landing. Most of the rooms were empty, creaky wooden spaces with huge bays windows and high ceilings, dust and cobwebs breeding in the corners. There was a suspicious dark blob huddled in the corner of the bathroom on the wall. It wouldn't surprise me if the house had rot in every inch of its ancient wooden structure. Probably a few rat nests too, maybe a couple of wasp nests. An infestation of spiders sounded likely too. 

I shuddered. 

My bedroom was one of the bigger rooms upstairs and was located at the front of the house in the turret shaped part of the building. I liked that the room was circular and fairly big, but that was about it. It was dusty and full of crap like the rest of the house, the windows caked in a layer of grime and dirt. My bed was situated on the right side of the room, looking lonely and odd amongst the boxes and bin bags. 

I sighed and lowered myself down onto the bare mattress, looking round at the room in desperation. Come on Frank. You'll have this dump looking like your old room in no time. 

Fuck, who was I kidding? My old bedroom had been in a huge modern house with the beach as my backyard. All I had to do was slide open the huge glass door set into the wall and step out onto the sand and the beach was there. The house had been all squares and rectangles, blocks and shapes making up the huge white home I'd lived in for the past four years. 

I looked at the boxes that were staring accusingly at me before getting up and walking over to the window, glumly looking out at the stretches of annoyingly clear blue skies and golden corn fields. Maybe I could just try and imagine that the fields were sand and the sky was full of storm clouds... No. Not working. 

Later that night I sat with Linda at the kitchen table from our old house which looked so out of place in the ancient rusty kitchen. Neither of us spoke, pushing our food round our plates moodily. I was incredibly similar to my mother. We could both hold grudges for the rest of our lives, go weeks without speaking to each other, both of us capable of legendary screaming matches full of hurtful words and cutting insults. 

It looked like she wasn't impressed with the house either. 

"Are you not going to call someone? Tell them there's been a mistake and they need to send us somewhere else?" I muttered darkly into my pasta, stabbing a tomato viciously. 

"No Frank," she sighed. "I've tried already. There's nothing I can do, unless I want to leave the company and have no job. It's not as if we've owned any of the houses we've lived in and there's a home we can go to. The business has paid for all our houses Frank. We have nowhere to go." 

"You could go looking for a house. You could easily find a different job Linda. We don't have to stay here," I sighed, looking at her hopefully. 

"You're sounding like a spoilt brat Frank. I don't want to leave the company, I love my job. I've worked with them for nearly fifteen years," Linda gritted out, jabbing her pasta. 

"So you're going to just stay here for the entire year? Really?" I asked, not quite believing what I was hearing. 

"It's one year Frank. It's not that long. Things are going to get better after this. We just have to stick it out and get on with it." 

"You keep saying 'we'. What makes you think I'm going to stay here?" I asked flatly, placing my fork down angrily. 

Linda said nothing, just looked at me sadly. 

"I'm not going to live here. If I have to fucking walk out of this dead end dump, I will. I'm not staying in this town Linda," I told her, trying to keep control of my temper. 

"Oh really. And where exactly are you going to go Frank? How far do you think you'll get with no money and nobody to get you out of trouble when you realise it's too late to come back?" Linda spat. 

"I'll go and fucking find my dad!" I snapped at her, my brain not connecting to my mouth. 

She looked appalled and taken aback by that, sitting back in her chair and her eyes tearing up. "Your dad?" 

My jaw hardened and let out a shaky breath. "You heard me. Maybe he won't make me do this shit. Maybe I'll be happier with him instead of you!" 


"What Linda?" I hissed, standing up. 

"Frank, sit down right now." 

"Make me." 

"Your dad doesn't fucking want you!" she scream at me all of a sudden, flying to her feet in flash and sending her plate of cold pasta flying across the floor, our breathing and smashing porcelain the only sound in the entire house.

I stared at her blankly. 

She gripped her hair in her hands, turning away from me and walking over to the counter, clenching the sides until her knuckles turned white, her shoulders hunched and tense, her head hung. 

"He cleared off as soon as he found out about you," she whispered hoarsely. "What makes you think anything's changed in seventeen years?" 

I swallowed and turned my back on her, staring out at the dark beyond the kitchen. "I'm going to unpack." 

I left, trudging up the creaking staircase and making my way into my room. I softly shut door before sliding down it, numb and shocked as tears began to trickle down my face. I stayed like that for the rest of the night. 

I woke with a jolt, panicking before I realised where I was. The moon sent dim rays into the room, faint beams cast over the dark shapes of bags and boxes. I was lying on the floor against the door, my neck aching and my body cold and stiff. I slowly sat up before stripping my clothes off down to my t-shirt and boxers and crawled under the duvet, falling asleep almost immediately, dreading the morning. 

The alarm would be going off in a few hours to wake me up for my first day of school. 
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