Head Down

Come on.

Come on....

Wake up!

Ugh.

Apparently yelling at myself is not going to get me out of bed. Surprise surprise -sarcasm. Guess that's not going to get me up either, because if it did I'd already be out the door. If I stay here on the floor arguing with myself though there's no way I'm getting anywhere promptly.

"Ugh," I grunt getting up out of my makeshift bed on the floor -success whoopie. I've always been awful at getting up on time since I'm definitely not a morning person, or even a day person really. This pisses John off to no end and has gotten me a good amount of whacks.

I jump out of my pjs in a slide of fabric, and quickly put on my favorite jeans, black tee shirt, and faded orange converse that have been worn and tracked through mud so many times you can barely make out their color. They fit my feet like a glove -comfortably- and I honestly couldn't care less about style, so I haven't bought new ones. Not that money is readily available to me, either.

My new room is empty except for my book bag, and the half empty cardboard box I got my clothes from. The place is pretty spacious, with carpet and everything. John must have gotten a big haul on his last deal, I think as I dig my hand into the oddly soggy cardboard box and come out with a dented, sickly yellow hairbrush. I run it through my smooth, shoulder length chestnut hair quickly, and drop it back inside the box with a muted thump. Then grab a stick of deodorant. I apply that to, then exit the room that will be mine for....a while.

Now in the hallway I see there are hard wood floors -dented and creaky of course, but still hard wood. The hall is long but I can see no other doors down it's length, with cream walls with the classic horror movie strips peeled away to reveal the dark, dank bowels within. Most definitely a huge haul. I walk to my left down said hall, where I see a strong beam of sunlight, my feet slapping soundly against the hollow floor. The house seems to creak and groan with the weight of me -or at least my thoughts- before coming to thee top of a staircase. It too is dusty and unsafe looking, but I can tell if cleaned up it would be grand. I descend the unsteady structure and to my surprise pass another level, which I note has at least three rooms, before hitting the ground floor -at least I think its the ground floor based on the larger glass window to my right. As I reach the bottom of the stairs I see I'm in a a classy looking, dusty kitchen with two identical looking halls on the cream wall adjacent me. Old yet effective looking appliances make breaks in the old fashioned, dusty cabinets, and the classic black and white checker tile lines the floor. I guess the corridors lead to some other bedrooms, a living room, and maybe a study. Because, what else is there to suspect in a house large as this? Maybe even a parlor.

So this is my house for now, not that bad and WAY bigger than the last apartment we had. Not like we need the space though. I say 'for now' because John moves me around often, and sometimes without warning. This is what happened when we were living in NYC just two days ago.

John came home and announced we had to leave. We were out of the city within the hour, curtesy of John's hearty Volvo. I swear that junker was a tank in a past life. We drove almost all night and all of yesterday. At around eleven pm we drove up a very long driveway that John said was now ours. I just got out once he parked outside, not bothering to observe or even ask where we were, grabbed my box and book bag, and went inside. I walked up the staircase and found the room highest up and farthest away from anything and claimed it mine. There was no electricity, and I suspect there still isn't, so I hadn't gotten to really see the place until now.

John is my substantially older brother -he's 38 and I'm 17- and my only relative. This might not be accurate information but I don't have any parents, or at least they aren't here now. I live with John but we have more of a jailer/prisoner relationship than a sibling thing. I don't complain and help out with the less odious tasks when he needs me whilst hoping not to get hit, and he enjoys my pain and suffering. He's a tad sadistic.