cold and I am having a hard time keeping warm. As soon as I am comfy enough and have tossed all my pillows to the floor, I fall asleep again.
The moonlight is shining down on my face. I realize it is the only light in the apartment while drifting in and out of sleep. Once I become conscious enough, I comprehend why the darkness is especially bothering to me tonight. My bedroom lamp is off. Through my window the stars are vacant from the clear night sky, just like they were the last time I saw my dad. I let out a scream. The kind of scream that wakes my mom out of her slumber and sends her into a panic, turning almost all of the lights on in the apartment.
“My lamp isn’t on,” I say alarmed, and throw my hand at it, searching for the switch. I hit its neck and it falls, the glass base of the lamp shattering into pieces. Mom flicks the bathroom light on, making it just bright enough for her to see the terror in my eyes, and the lamp broken by my bedside table.
“Darn it,” she says, spotting the broken glass.
“I turned off all the lights when you went to bed. I forgot. I’m sorry,” she says. “You had me scared shit-less, screaming like that.”
“You can’t ever turn them off,” I say thoroughly terrified.
“I know that by now sweetie, I was half-asleep when I did it,” Mom says, her voice lined with exhaustion. “And you were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want the light to wake you.”
I wonder how it could have looked peaceful to her, when I could barely keep my eyes shut or open for more than five minutes.
“I’ll leave the bathroom light on,” she says. “And I’ll clean up your lamp in the morning. Just don’t step in it when you get out of bed.”
I nod and pull my blanket up to my chin, trying to warm up again. I stay awake until the dawn breaks, and grey early morning light fills my bedroom. I step out of bed on the opposite side from the glass and tip-toe to the bathroom so as to not wake Mom.
I turn the shower on as hot as the water can go, and stare in the mirror as the steam erases my reflection. The bruise has faded significantly, but my eyes have dark circles beneath them from my sleepless night.
I step into the scorching hot water, let it clear my mind, and wash away the two-day-old grime. I think about how I am going to have to face Miemah today in gym, and Clad in three of my classes. Maybe I’ll catch up on some Z’s in the janitor’s closet. Bring it on .
I step out of the shower, my hair smelling of strawberries, and the circles around my eyes lightened. I dry myself off with a towel and with my hair dripping all over the place, walk back to my room.
I gather up a shirt, skinny jeans, and jacket to wear. When I walk back to the bathroom to dress, I see Mom is awake, sipping a cup of orange juice, her stare fixed on the dirty dishes piled up in the sink.
“I’ll clean them when I get home,” I offer.
“That’s okay sweets, I’ll do them. I think I have today off.”
I dress myself, let Mom put new bandages on me, and get my bag ready for school. It smells something awful from the shirt covered in milk that I’d left in it. I pull it out and throw it in my clothes hamper. I then find my Bullet List crumpled at the bottom of the bag, and take it to my room to hide in the sock drawer of my dresser.
I return to the kitchen and take a sip of Mom’s orange juice, not feeling hungry enough to eat breakfast. The orange juice burns my throat; I spit it out, and cough.
“What is this?” I croak, smelling the glass. Mom looks gutted.
“Vodka,” she says reluctantly.
“You said you got rid of it all!” I say, tipping the glass into the sink. “You lied to me. Why do I always have to be the parent around here? Who’s the fifteen-year-old, you or me? Cause you act like a damn child, sneaking your alcohol around like a delusional baby, thinking I wouldn’t find out,” I rave. “Do you take me for a fool? Where is it, Huh? Where have you stashed it?”
The moonlight is shining down on my face. I realize it is the only light in the apartment while drifting in and out of sleep. Once I become conscious enough, I comprehend why the darkness is especially bothering to me tonight. My bedroom lamp is off. Through my window the stars are vacant from the clear night sky, just like they were the last time I saw my dad. I let out a scream. The kind of scream that wakes my mom out of her slumber and sends her into a panic, turning almost all of the lights on in the apartment.
“My lamp isn’t on,” I say alarmed, and throw my hand at it, searching for the switch. I hit its neck and it falls, the glass base of the lamp shattering into pieces. Mom flicks the bathroom light on, making it just bright enough for her to see the terror in my eyes, and the lamp broken by my bedside table.
“Darn it,” she says, spotting the broken glass.
“I turned off all the lights when you went to bed. I forgot. I’m sorry,” she says. “You had me scared shit-less, screaming like that.”
“You can’t ever turn them off,” I say thoroughly terrified.
“I know that by now sweetie, I was half-asleep when I did it,” Mom says, her voice lined with exhaustion. “And you were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want the light to wake you.”
I wonder how it could have looked peaceful to her, when I could barely keep my eyes shut or open for more than five minutes.
“I’ll leave the bathroom light on,” she says. “And I’ll clean up your lamp in the morning. Just don’t step in it when you get out of bed.”
I nod and pull my blanket up to my chin, trying to warm up again. I stay awake until the dawn breaks, and grey early morning light fills my bedroom. I step out of bed on the opposite side from the glass and tip-toe to the bathroom so as to not wake Mom.
I turn the shower on as hot as the water can go, and stare in the mirror as the steam erases my reflection. The bruise has faded significantly, but my eyes have dark circles beneath them from my sleepless night.
I step into the scorching hot water, let it clear my mind, and wash away the two-day-old grime. I think about how I am going to have to face Miemah today in gym, and Clad in three of my classes. Maybe I’ll catch up on some Z’s in the janitor’s closet. Bring it on .
I step out of the shower, my hair smelling of strawberries, and the circles around my eyes lightened. I dry myself off with a towel and with my hair dripping all over the place, walk back to my room.
I gather up a shirt, skinny jeans, and jacket to wear. When I walk back to the bathroom to dress, I see Mom is awake, sipping a cup of orange juice, her stare fixed on the dirty dishes piled up in the sink.
“I’ll clean them when I get home,” I offer.
“That’s okay sweets, I’ll do them. I think I have today off.”
I dress myself, let Mom put new bandages on me, and get my bag ready for school. It smells something awful from the shirt covered in milk that I’d left in it. I pull it out and throw it in my clothes hamper. I then find my Bullet List crumpled at the bottom of the bag, and take it to my room to hide in the sock drawer of my dresser.
I return to the kitchen and take a sip of Mom’s orange juice, not feeling hungry enough to eat breakfast. The orange juice burns my throat; I spit it out, and cough.
“What is this?” I croak, smelling the glass. Mom looks gutted.
“Vodka,” she says reluctantly.
“You said you got rid of it all!” I say, tipping the glass into the sink. “You lied to me. Why do I always have to be the parent around here? Who’s the fifteen-year-old, you or me? Cause you act like a damn child, sneaking your alcohol around like a delusional baby, thinking I wouldn’t find out,” I rave. “Do you take me for a fool? Where is it, Huh? Where have you stashed it?”
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