Hey lovelies! i know i know! I'm a horrible person!!!! It's been just about six months and i feel AWFUL about it! But don't hate! I'm back and I have another chapter practically finished as well! Dedication goes out to all of those fans that kept re-reading this story even though another chapter wasn't up! Here's to you, babes! :D OK OK enough talking! back to the storyyyyy!!!!!
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Jack’s POV:
My door opens and closes with a loud ‘THUNK’. Light footsteps walk towards me before some foul smelling liquid drips on my chest. I crack my eyes open to see my drunken mother peering at me. A bottle of some clear drink is held shakily in her right hand. Within seconds, I’m wide awake and scooting to the other side of my bed. I glance at the clock: 3:46 a.m. Wow…she’s home early.
“Jackson…?” She slurs.
My voice hitches and wobbles, “Y-yeah?” She sits on the opposite side of my bed.
“I came to say that your dad is sorry for pushing you down yesterday.” I’m shocked…and angry. Very angry.
“I was trying to stop you from hurting Grandpa. And if Dad wants to apologize, I want to hear it from him.” I whisper through clenched teeth.
“Well your—“I block out her unclean language, “Grandpa deserved what he got. And more from the way he’s destroyed this family!”
“He’s the only one holding us together!” I’m standing now, my fists balled, “He’s the only one giving us a home!”
“We can do much better without that—“Again I flinch at the inappropriate words meant about my hero, “old goat!”
“No, we can’t.” My voice is calmer as I walk around my bed, “I would be out on the street and you would be stuck in some jail cell for the rest of your life!”
She stands up and some of the liquid sloshes out of the bottle, “How dare you talk to me like that?!” She takes a long swig, her eyes blazing with a new kind of fire, “We are family!”
“I don’t consider us anywhere close to a family.” A glare emanates from my mother as the bottle is placed to her lips. I never stop staring at my once beautiful mom. She used to be pretty and caring, now her face is sunken from drinking and her hair is disheveled. Without any further words, she shoves the bottle against my chest.
She watches me stumble backwards. I trip on my backpack and hit the nightstand. A long streak of pain runs down the back of my hand, “Do you see what he’s done to you?” She snarls.
“Yeah, he’s saved me from you.” With a final glare, my mom turns and slams the door behind her. Built up frustration leads me to throw the bottle at the door. It shatters and in the dim red light from my clock the liquid looks like blood; dripping down the white wood. I literally jump as I notice real blood on the corner of my nightstand. The pain on my hand flashes back and I now see a long gash. Unwillingly, I stand and head to my bathroom. I flick the light and water on. Wincing as the cut is washed out; I find some gauze in our medical drawer. My hand gets wrapped, but there is no way I can get any sleep now. With my black and neon Supras and a black t-shirt now on, I make my way out of the window. Who knows where my feet are really taking me. All I know is that my mother can’t find me out here. I plug in some headphones and run. I don’t know where I’m going or why, but I go; only achieving longer distance between me and my so-called family.
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