I wake up around dinner time. My eyes fly around the room as I try to gather my jumbled-up thoughts. As I try to wake up like a normal person, the sweet citrus-y lemon smell wafts into my room. Instantaneously my stomach growls. 

I unconsciously got up and was about to walk out of the room when I then realized that I did not have a shirt on. I looked around before I saw it on the floor in front of the nightstand. I went over to pick it up. As I bent over, I felt a piece of skin literally rip apart. Next thing I knew I felt something warm just run down the side of my stomach. My hand went to wipe it up and I saw a thick red substance. 

Blood. Just great. Just what I needed. Just a perfect way to continue my day.

I go to the bathroom and try to wash it up. The soap and wipes are burning me as I try to patch it up. They are always dried and cracked, and no amount of moisturizer will ever fix them. I regret not putting any when I was younger cause now, they are worse than ever. And the worst pain these things give me is when a loose thread from a sweater or shirt gets stuck in there and it pulls on the skins. I cry sometimes when it happens. 

As I manage to clean and fix it something comes to mind.

...

Two girls, one about the age of 20 and the other about the age of 5, are sitting in the living room of a small apartment. Although the apartment is small it is clean and maintained.

The 20-year-old girl is spread out on the couch, smoking a cigarette while the child is sitting at a child's metal play table. While the older one looks relaxed, the child looks absolutely terrified, not moving a muscle. Something is clutched tightly in her fist and her lips are sealed, as though a secret was ready to burst.

"What is wrong with you?" as the older one, a puff of smoke coming out with each word.

"Nothing," said the child quickly. At this the child looked like a ghost as all the color from her face fled. She began to tremble madly. The older one looked suspicious and decided to further investigate. She got up from the couch and started to walk towards the child, clutching the cigarette tighter. The child was thinking about running but she knew that would make the situation ten times worse. She decided to let the Devil who tries to wear Prada come to her.

"What is in your hand?" asks the older one standing above the child, more aggressively. The child does not give the satisfaction of answering, so instead she tries to put on a brave face, but semi fails. The older is tired of these childish antics; like a vulture the older one goes for the child's clenched hand and tries to pry it open. Even with the odds stacked against her the child was able to fend off the older one for a while.

After about 5 minutes of rough housing the older one was able to open the child's hand and reveal... a broken pencil. Snapped right in half, laying in the palm of the child's hand, sweat glistening it.

This angered the older one beyond imagination. Immediately she raised the severely scratched hand that was not holding the cigarette and hit the child very hard. The child fell down hard with the loudest THUD! known to mankind. The child felt her head crack open again and a pool of blood dampen her hair.

The older one knelt next to the fallen child and looked at her with the utmost dislike. She picked up the child and cradled her in her arms, as though she was though she was trying to put the child to sleep; pulling the child closer to her chest only made the child more delusional and made her headache even worse as she tried to pull away from the older one. As older one was twirling her cigarette gingerly, she was speaking to the child rudely, making sure that spit hit her with each word.

"Your worthless father had to get me a cheaper set of makeup to afford your stupid coloring book." Finding a clean spot on the child's oversized shirt the older one pressed the cigarette hard into the child's back.

"AHHHHHHHH!" the child screamed and writhed in her arms, trying to leave the grip of the older one. The older one, however, just dug the cigarette farther into the child's back. The child felt a sharp blow to her head. Everything was starting to become out of focus. The older one kept talking to the child, but she could not hear a single word. Before she completely lost her grip, she saw a silhouette of a tall man. He was holding grocery bags and talking but the moment he saw the girls everything froze and started again. The man and the older one was yelling very loudly. The child could not understand what was happening.

The child finally lost her grip.

...

This time I felt something warm drip down the sides of my face. My eyes were leaking tears I swore I would not leak anymore. I wiped the hot tears from my face and finished patching up the cut. All of them, across my arms and back, are so dry and cracked that when I try to put moisturizer or cream that the doctor prescribed, they burn badly.

I finally finished and put on a thick sweater. I made my way downstairs and saw the world's best team in the kitchen. Greyson and Dad were dancing around in the kitchen, cooking dinner. They were mixing and chopping this, frying and sauteing that, and doing all the fixings while listening to "The Best of Elvis Presley". They were old school. It is very cute.

'Jailhouse Rock' was about to end, and they were literally acting like they were performing for a full crowd. The final note finished perfectly, and they looked alive. I shook my head and walk over to Dad, giving him a typical father-daughter welcome - a kiss on the cheek and a hug.

"Thank you- Thank you very much," he said in an attempt at an Elvis accent as my lips parted from his cheek.

"Is dinner almost ready?" I ask as I open a cupboard to grab plates.

"Almost," Greyson said as he added a dash of lemon juice to what looked like a Caesar Salad. I place the plates on the table and make a couple more rounds to the kitchen for glasses, silverware, water, and to place the food that is ready on the table. Finally, the table was set, and the chefs retired from the kitchen which meant only one thing - we feast!

We all finally sat at the table - Dad at the head and me and Greyson on either side of him - and we immediately started to serve one another. Before we stab and torture the dead chicken, we said our thanks.

"So how was practice?" Dad asked as Greyson cut up his chicken.

"Coach said that he was going to introduce me to some scouts at the next game." He is really good at basketball which means that he was always meeting important people all the time. And as I just stated that I realized I am living in a 2000's high school movie. But- 'We're all in this together..."

"Do you know what colleges?" Dad asked, interested.

"Some Ivy League's and one local. Coach briefed me today before I left." He stared at his food for a second, like he was anxious at the thought, but he continued like nothing happened.

"Well, if you need any pointers, I can be of assistance," Dad said helpfully, like he could be any.

"Yeah, thanks, water boy," Greyson said bravely to his face. I laughed into my plate, trying to not die or get food everywhere. Dad made to hit his head playfully, but Greyson ducked in time.

After the horse play, they calmed down. Dad pointed his fork with chicken on it towards Greyson. "Do not underestimate a person who watches criminology shows and is a doctor. They are the best killers known to mankind."

"Aye, Aye, Captain."

I was happily enjoying my food when Dad turned to me.

"How was your day, Madame?" he asked. I thought of the therapy session and Lori and the cut and all the other things that are bothering me, but I decided not to worry him. I even managed to push a smile through all of it. He loses sleep over it. 

"It was- it was good."

"And how was your therapist?" he asked. He sounded hopeful, like really hopeful, which was weird. He is usually trying his best to help me but never with his eyes literally on fire with excitement. I do not mind therapist, but I just feel uncomfortable with them the first time. I have been going for a while now, but I don't know. It's not as easy for everyone to do. 

"Whoever recommended it should jump off a bridge and go to heaven." Hopefully this would put his mind at ease, but I sure didn't look like what I meant. Needless to say, he did not buy it completely. He looked at me inquiringly and I returned an innocent look to fight it. He finally gave up then went on a tangent about his day at work. He tried to telling jokes but ones about broken bones don't work after a while.

We finished our food and began us once in a blue moon desert after dinner. Cookies N' Cream is the best flavor in ice cream, no questions asked. Having someone who read the 20 different ways sugar can kill you, it is a rarity to see any junk in this house. But outside the house is fair game, just don't tell the big guy, won't you?

"Daisy," Dad said after a while to break the short silence, "Greyson told me you went to see your mom." He tried to pass it off nonchalantly, but he failed. 

"Yeah," I said, playing with my ice cream, not looking at him. "How was it?" he asked. 

"It was..." 

I tried to say it, but the words got caught in my throat. "She was..." Still could not find it. My hands were starting to shake, my spoon giving it away to the others. I did not want to get into it. "She was being her usual self," I managed to say rather quickly. I swallowed any troubles I was having, a bunch of things running a marathon in my head which made it hard, and even forced the smile again. Dad did not know what to do with that. He looked lost, drowned in pain. He just nodded and looked at me.

Greyson stared at me though. Hard. His eyes said only one thing: Tell him. I was arguing back, telling him to shut up. We stare at each other for a bit, arguing with our faces. There was no point in worrying Dad with my problems; they are mine and I have to deal with them. I don't like Dad to know certain things, even if he, maybe, does. I love Greyson but he will never understand this. No one will.

He eventually used his last resort: the soft eyes. You know what I am talking about. The eyes a guy gives you when he is genuinely concerned for you and your wellbeing. The eyes that melt your heart and just makes you want to give the sweetest -

"AHEM!" Dad said, breaking what seemed to him a romantic moment. We both looked away, embarrassed and a bit annoyed with the other. Dad looked at Greyson, ready to show how good of a killer he is.

While Dad and Greyson get along wonderfully now - thank God - their relationship was not always like this. In the beginning, to say Dad was slightly hesitant is a gigantic understatement. He flat out threatened Greyson all the time; I mean, I understood where Dad was coming from, you know, being in a serious relationship at a young age, but talking to the guy two hours about how he better be a gentleman and if he didn't, he would pay for it, before the 8th grade dance was a bit much at the time. Yet Greyson stayed by my side and faced all the ridiculous tests Dad threw at him. And now I have to, sadly, say that they have a cuter relationship than I do.

We finish our ice cream in silence. Once we all emptied our bowls, Greyson and I bullied Dad to bed. He had to get to work early tomorrow, so he needed his sleep. He acts so drunk, in a funny way, when he does not get enough sleep, even though he doesn't heavily drink. And sometimes his weary eyes make mistakes, like accidently helping diagnose a patient with Ankylosing Spondylitis when the patient in fact did not have Ankylosing Spondylitis.

After he pulls his drama and gets to bed Greyson and I clean up. We just kind of ignore each other, busying ourselves with wiping the counters and mopping. I am the type of person who likes to do everything my way and Greyson likes everything done fast, so it is an interesting combo. Cleaning is therapeutic to me for some reason. I like getting lost in folding laundry and fixing up messy areas.

"Why do you not tell him?" Greyson asked as he dried the dishes.

"Because she is stupid and he does not need to worry about it," I said as I picked up trash from the floor. I got up and went to put the trash in the trash can. When I turned around, we accidently bumped into each other - luckily none of the trash fell out of the dustpan.

He was staring at me again though. He was staring hard to the point where it was making my eyes water. I did not want to start this conversation again. I walked around him and finished what I was doing. He tried relighting this conversation again but after how determined I was to leave it he did too. 

We finished at 30 to midnight. We both were so tired, so we washed up quickly and went to bed. Greyson got into bed and almost instantly knocked out. He must have had a long day. I took my phone off of charging and texted in the group chat with our other 2 friends, Daniella and Joshua. We four are in a group chat and are always sending each other dumb stuff all the time. Being seniors is fun!

Me: Make sure you guys are up tomorrow. We will pick you up at 10:30.

Dani: Ok, goodnight <3

Joshua: Hmmm

Me: You too, Mr. Night Owl

Joshua: Yeah, don't worry. Night

Me: Night.

I put my phone back on charging and got under the comforter. I dug my face into Greyson's back and wrapped my arms around him. He turned around and hugged me, pushing me closer to his chest. It was so warm and with the sound of his heart beating, I knocked out almost as fast as him.

...

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