Chapter 4
Realizations, and Drunkards
Pierce was still staring at Desiree’s window, it had been an hour since he had seen her get smacked to the ground, and he couldn’t stop gawking at her blinds. He couldn’t comprehend what had happened, how such a sweet, pretty girl could be beaten like that for no reason! Yet, what was really bothering him was how she glared at him through the window, and shut him away like he was absolutely nothing.
Pierce wanted so badly to get into her head, what was she thinking now? Was Desiree angry because she thought it was his fault she got beaten? Or did she think he was going to tell someone…? He bit his lip frustrated; now he knew something they had in common.
And it wasn’t exactly what he had in mind.
Wet clothes stuck to him uncomfortably as if they were telling him to get inside now, and after all he was getting a bit cold anyways. He slipped out of the tree with ease taking once last glance at Desiree’s window as if something was going to change. His hope was crushed though; it was like looking back into the refrigerator knowing there was no food in it.
You just met her…get a hold of yourself! Pierce commanded himself fiercely.
He had other things to worry about, like finding a new job, trying to earn some money to pay the bills, and keeping his father somewhat in tact. He rolled his eyes to the last one, there was no way Pierce was going to be able to keep that promise to himself.
Sneaking into the house wasn’t something Pierce needed to do since his father didn’t care where he was, or what he was doing at that point. Jack Dyer was literally so drunk every night that he didn’t know his own name half the time, and the toilet would be backed up in puke every morning. This is exactly how Pierce lived his life everyday, nothing new to him, just something he had to deal with….like a dog.
Pierce entered the house not the least bit cautiously. His father was lying in the middle of the deserted living room floor surrounded by boxes. The boy sighed observing the unfinished business he was now going to have on top of everything else.
There weren’t too many boxes, because most of their things were either stolen, because of their last neighborhood, sold because his father needed alcohol money, or because they didn’t have enough room in the pickup truck. Yet, Pierce wasn’t in any mood to do his father’s dirty work. It would have to wait until he was passed out drunk again.
He did grab his mattress, knowing that was the only thing that was going in his room besides the box of little things he couldn’t bear to leave behind. So the mattress trudged behind him lifelessly, climbing the steps to his bedroom. The little brown box was still sitting in the middle of the room untouched, dying to be opened up. He threw the mattress to the one side of his room, and sat down inches away from the box.
His palms grazed the flaps keeping it closed; these things were the last objects he had to remind him of his mother. A picture of his mother holding him laughing was laid on top of everything. Yet, he kept the realization of his father taking the picture was taken out of his mind. To him it was just his mother and himself. Then there was a dead sunflower that he had picked for her so many years ago. She had never thrown it out, but instead she kept it as a book mark for most of her favorite books.
Then there were little mementos scattered within, which didn’t have the importance of some of the other objects. Pierce crawled to the window’s ledge on the other side of the room, and set the picture up. The windowsill was the closest in the house to where his mother was, because he knew she would want to be the farthest away from everything and if need be, the closest to the outside.
