Well...Not Anymore.

Well...Not Anymore: Chapter 3

"Pook!" I squeal as soon as I get home, seeing our family's golden retriever laying on the grass of the yard and scratching his back with it. As a result, he looks like a giant fish out of the water, making some of the apprehension I had about going home ease a bit. 

When the dog hears my feet start to crunch the grass underneath me, he hops off of the grass and trots over to me. Like always he goes to jump and put his front paws on my stomach, but I make sure to take a step back so that he fails. The first time he ever did that, I fell straight on my back and cracked my head open. I still remember Lucas rushing over to me, putting his warm hands all over my face and begging me to say if I was okay. 

That had been seventh grade, back when he actually cared about my well-being. He'd held my hand the entire time the doctor sewed my head back together. So that I wouldn't have to do it, Lucas also explained to the doctor why my parents weren't there. He used to be so good to me, so caring. 

Once again feeling that familiar urge to cry my heart out, I drop to my knees and bury my face into Pookies' soft fur. The dog moves his head to fit mine, making me feel so loved even though it's only by a dog, so the tears slowly start to make their way back down. 

Insanely proud of myself for not giving in and crying like I usually do, I give the dog a quick kiss on the nose and then bring myself back to my feet. I look over at the place I've called home my entire life and, not even meaning to, I wince a little. 

It's not exactly the nicest home on the block. The shutters of my bedroom my window are a little bit loose, making them look sloppy and ugly. There are weeds where the flower bed should be and where there should be grass, there's dirt. Sure, there's some grass here and there, but it's only in little splotches. With my mom working all of the time to cover for my dad's debts and drinking problem, she's never had the time to make it look better. My dad, well, he hasn't gotten off of the couch for more than twenty minutes in about ten years. 

Heading towards the door, I strain my ears and listen for any yelling or crying. When I realize that it's good and clear, I push my key in and open the door, automatically getting hit with the familiar smell of alcohol and smoke. Well...I guess my dad got up to get himself some cigarettes today. 

I don't see him anywhere, thank God, so I quickly make my way into my bedroom and lock the door behind me. My room, so tiny that it can't even politely be called quaint, is painted a light blue color that always seems to put me a little bit at ease. There's a small twin-sized bed shoved in one of the corners and that's pretty much my holding space for everything. Because the room is so small it can never really look clean, but I always try and keep it tidied up. 

I fall back onto my bed spread and look up at the ceiling, at the glow-in-the-dark star stickers that Lucas helped me put up towards the end of the sixth grade. I'd been so excited to have them because I've always loved looking up at the sky, looking at the stars, but in this city it's so foggy that they're always hard to see. And so Lucas bought these for me one day, saying that I could look at the stars without even having to go outside. 

Thinking about it now, I realize that I should probably take them down because they're "unhealthy" but they're such a major part of my room that I doubt I'd be able to sleep at night without them there. 

My thoughts, though, are interrupted by the sound of the doorbell chiming throughout the old house. Reluctantly peeling myself from my bed because the odds of my dad answering the door are so insanely slim, I make my way through the house and then pull open the front door, expecting a tax collector or an evictor.  

I definitely wasn't expecting to see Lucas Hamilton standing on my door step, looking as out of place as a bull in a china shop. 

Immediately feeling my entire body tense up in defense, I cross my arms over my chest and ask crossly, "What do you want?"