'Dysfunctional: not operating normally or properly'
That was one way to describe Clara Campbells family. Dysfunctional; not operating properly. That was just what happened when your older siblings leave you.
Or that's what Clara had always believed...
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| Clara Campbell |
Looking down at the busy street below me, I felt a sense of safety that everyone else was continuing their lives while mine was just sat still on the top of my downstairs neighbors roof. She was elderly, so she never knew the difference between me walking across her roof and a squirrel.
I brought the cig to my mouth for one final puff, before extinguishing it on the ledge. It had become a nightly ritual to sit out here and have a cigarette from the packet I had found in one of my siblings old bedrooms.
I guess this entire thing had always given me comfort away from the life that I had to live when my parents decided they wanted to arise in the mood they chose for the day.
"Piece of shit!" I spoke to soon, as my silence was disrupted by my mothers yelling. I checked the time on my small, cracked phone; 5am. She was up earlier than usual which was never good. "Clara!" she shouted.
It was unusual for her to remember my name, so I sluggishly grabbed my phone, sliding it into the front pocket of my hoodie, standing up to my full height that I had been given too from my father. Except, my height was no use to anyone.
I was just annoyingly tall. I stepped through my window, landing on my creaky, old bed, stepping over the piles of clothes, as I opened the door to my bedroom. I quietly closed it, knowing my father was in the room next door.
It had become a habit of mine to be tiptoeing around my parents, not wanting to influence another change in their mood. I was used to everything that occurred in my life; it was like a second skin to me.
"Where is the money you earned last night?" my mother always needed the money I worked for so that she can either buy more drugs or invest in something that puts us in even more debt. I handed over half the money I earned.
I worked at the diner down the end of the street. I earned more than enough for a girl my age, but I never told my mother that. The lady that ran the diner was always too kind to me, and always gave me her tips from the night, as she usually put me on closing with her.
I always kept enough money from my parents, hidden in another place, so that I could pay for the bills and any food that I would need. I couldn't trust my mother with all the money. "This is less than last time" my mother sieved through the money again.
"I didn't get any tips last night" I muttered, knowing more than well enough that I got double the tips. "Not many people came in" I added, lying right through my teeth.
She didn't need to know the truth; she had never done anything for me so doing this was more than enough for her to get by. "Fine" she then grabbed her keys and stormed out of the apartment, making sure to slam the door so that it rattled.
I bowed my head, knowing my father's figure would be looming in the hallway behind me. "Move it kid" he grumbled, hobbling into the kitchen, grabbing some food and his keys before I was left in the apartment by myself, all over again.
