when love lasts

two- a heavenly feeling

Alessandra Vitale:

"So, are you excited to go back to college?" My father asks from across the table.

"Yeah, I guess so." I respond, avoiding eye contact. It's hard trying to keep my eyes on the half empty plate in-front of me and not on the crazy guy. It's like dangling a candy in-front of a child. Not a baby. I hate that saying. It's so-

"Why are you guessing?"

"Huh."

"You said you guess so. Are you excited or not?" He questioned sternly.

"Yeah. The feeling of joy flows through my veins and I overwhelmed with emotion-"

"Don't be so fucking sarcastic!" He hates when I say shit like that. It reminds him of mom, that's what my aunt said at least.

I hate it when I'm not at my mom's place. I don't have Luisa here to smooth over fights or to watch old episodes of Gilmore Girls with. It's out favourite show, I like to call Lu "Rory" whenever she does something clever.

Luisa is at her dad's house. He's not the best guy either ,but at least he tries. At least he remembers his daughter's birthday and brings her a card. At least he gives a shit.

"Your mother said you've been smoking again." I was really hoping this wouldn't come up.

"Did she?"

"Yes. Have you been?"

"A little bit."

"I already told you I don't want you doing that shit." He's such a fucking hypocrite. This man goes through a pack a day and then some.

"I know that but-"

"No buts. You need to focus on school and stop doing shit you shouldn't be doing." It could be worse. At least I'm a high teenager and not a pregnant one. Not that I have anything against teen mothers. They're badasses.

I stir around in my seat, toying with the food on my plate. The tension in the room is too blatant to ignore. My father and I aren't too close, we never have been and I don't think we ever will be. I have come to terms with that over time.

"How's the boyfriend?" What?

"The rich boytoy your mother brought back into my home." He clarifies.

"He's- ok." I don't have an opinion. He's makes my mom happy but pays my sister and I no mind.

"Why?"

"I don't know. He's not bad."

"Is he better than me?"

"Dad!" He always has to make this shit awkward.

"It's just a question, Andy." That is a name my family will call when they are desperate. My dad calls me that when he needs me to drop something off to his friend because he can't go to that neighbourhood. Shit like that.

"I hardly know him." I continue playing with the food on my plate as my dad leaves the room, probably to have a smoke on the porch or something.

It's not long before I too leave the table. I don't hate this house nor do I even dislike it. It just holds a lot of memories that I don't enjoy having engrained in my head.

One night, when my parents were arguing, I heard a slap, a yell and a smashing sound. The next morning they were perfect. Breakfast was on the table and hands were held. To this day, I still don't know what happened ,but I don't think I want to.

I think I hate the color green. It can be a really pretty color ,but something about it makes me want to sneeze. I don't know how to explain my disdain for it.

My closet is green on the inside. My aunt thought it would be good for me to have color in my life, she called me bland and it may have been the worst thing anyone has ever called me.

Mattias' favourite colour is orange, which I think is such a bleh colour. I love nectarines and Orange is the new black but, the colour orange makes me look like a cheap Jessica Alba sex doll (my sister's words, not mine).

Red is the superior colour and no one can tell me different. You have strawberries, Santa, Bloody Marys, you name it.

Black comes a close second. You can wear the colour black with anything and everything ,at least I do. It's my go to.

My ceiling looks so fucking gross.

How many people would have to throw off the Empire State Building ,before they all pile up like a big mattress, and someone could survive the fall?

If you put a bunch of babies in a room and left them to raise themselves, would they make their own language?

I think I have adhd. It's either that or the weed just kicked in.

This is the last blunt I have and I think I'm going to cry when it's over. I stretch my lungs to the furthest extent as I breath in the last moment. It was truly heavenly.

College is such a weird place. I don't hate it, never have. It's just one of those places that seems overly fake. There's blonde girls with tits bigger than my head and the varsity teams that only think with their penises.

Real life is full of addicts and angry people with daddy issues. Nothing comes free ; life comes with a price. You can live and be a smart ass but you'll probably have to work your ass off from age five. The other option is being a 'social reject', disowned and lost.

Someone should seriously hire me as a motivational speaker or something. I'd be a great therapist too.

This year has to be a good year. It started off shit but that means it can only get better.

I almost got in a relationship with this guy I had been hooking up with, but he decided brunettes weren't his thing. Now he's with this Ginny Weasley looking ass bitch. I love Ginny Weasley but, I hate this girl.

Her name is Millie and she's on the swim team as a Freshman. It's not fair. Not her being on the swim team, I don't give a shit about some lanky sluts in latex hats.

He didn't even know her until a month ago. I knew him since we were fifteen. That's what I get for going for a Scorpio 'J' name.

I'm not a man hater. Lenny Kravitz could trample all over me and I'd thank him. However, I really fucking hate the man- boy who called me at two in morning to say there wasn't a chance for us. Ass.

Honestly, I don't want a rebound or girl talk to fix my broken heart. All I need is a blunt in my hand and a bit of Blondie playing on the radio.

I am going to make this a great first year of college and I am going to do it for me. Everyone else can suck my dick. With consent of course.