The Lovely Suicide Children

Chapter 1: Welcome Home

This story is dedicated to those we lost to suicide and those fighting their suicidal thoughts. I believe in you. I also asked those to comment those they lost so that I could add it to the dedication but it wouldn't let me copy them all:( I'm sorry! Also, remember that the story will be released one chapter at a time so I can fix all mistakes and get feedback. Thanks, everyone. Enjoy.

***

My father peeked at me through the rear-view mirror. Our eyes met for the first time in seven long years, making me more anxious than I had already been. I shouldn't have hated him as much as I did, but in my mind, it was his fault. All of it.

I went into my backpack reaching past the books, pens, and letters I had packed for the move. I groaned, realizing my headphones weren't in the bag and probably were in one of my suitcases. Whenever I had anxiety like this, music was the only thing that blocked out the world. It made things less awkward for me. Nobody spoke to me, but whenever I had my music I felt like the lyrics did. The lyrics were my friends supporting me through the day, getting me through what seemed to have been a never ending storm.

"You know, your sister can't wait to meet you," my dad said. His voice was softer than I remembered it years ago. I could only remember it being gruff and strained because he was so stressed out. He chuckled to himself. "She even helped Shayla clean the entire house."

Sister. Shayla. The words lingered inside of my head, making me more upset. That wasn't my sister. That was his kid and Shayla's child. How dare he call her my sister? He's been taking care of her while my mom and I struggled to find funds for me to start school, and here he was, playing the "everything's okay" game.

"You're going to love the place," my dad continued. He looked back at me and smiled. 

For a 55-year-old, my dad had healthy black hair. Not gray on him. His face was clean shaven and his eyes were almost as dark as his hair. I have never seen him look so...alive. When my mom was alive, he usually came home stressed and tired. His eyes would be half closed with bags underneath, which indicated a lack of sleep. He didn't take care of his hair before. Before, it was messy and uneven like the beard he had. Now, he drove with a smile on his face, looking 25-years-old again.

"Olivia?" he said.

"Hmm?" I replied.

There was a long pause as he tried to think of what he wanted to say. "How are you doing?" he asked.

Wrong question. I swallowed and took a deep breath. "Well, let's see. My mother put a gun to her head two weeks ago because no one took care of her. Then she left me with a deluded note which didn't include anything about me. I'm going to live with my dad now. The same dad who didn't bother to call me or see me or ask how I was doing in seven years," I said, keeping my eyes on the window. "I'm just fantastic." 

My father sighed, scratching his head and paying attention to the road. "You blame me, huh?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I said, wanting to do nothing more than to just end the conversation. I was already mad enough, not to mention all the anxiety I had. I really needed my music, but I had to wait. The silence inside of the car made me feel really uncomfortable.

***

Driving from Pennsylvania to New York felt like more than three and a half hours. We finally got there around 6 PM. In the winter, the nights became dark fast, but this didn't keep me from seeing their...mansion.

The mansion was a tall mass of bricks built high with windows over ten feet tall. Yellow lights surrounded by flying insects hung next to each window, giving the house a warm, red glow. The outside of the mansion was clear of any plants or vines attaching to it. Flower pots and large plants surrounded every part of the place except the large wooden door. Exiting that door was a tall woman. I assumed it was his new wife, Shayla. Her skin was a warm, almond color. Her afro reminded me of a puffy cloud but matched the color of her eyes which were dark brown. She wore a white gown with a red, silk robe that hung slightly off her shoulders.

  With all the bad thoughts and assumptions I had about her, there was one thing I could not deny. She was beautiful. However, I did wonder about her age because she only looked a couple years older than me. 

My dad got out of the car. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my bag and prepared to meet my new step-mother.  That's what my father wanted me to see her as. To me, she wasn't that. She was the person who stole my father from us and the reason my dad left. I got out of the car, stepping into the cold outside of the winter approach. 

"There she is," Shayla said walking towards me with her hands out. To my surprise, she hugged me. Her perfume made me want to gag because there was way too much. "How're you?" She smiled at me with perfect, white teeth.

"Fine," I lied, passing her and heading towards the trunk. When I opened it, I noticed something weird by the walkway. There was a circle drew from chalk, with lines leading all the way up two steps and into the house. It looked a trail for someone to follow, but how could anyone mark up a beautiful walkway and stairs that led into the house.

I grabbed my suitcase. "You only have one suitcase?" Shayla closed the trunk. 

I looked into her eyes that were almost blocked by her thick hair. "Mom couldn't afford much for us," I turned to the mansion, then back at her. "Nice place by the way." With my suitcase, I walked past her. My dad got back inside of the car to park it in their garage. I headed towards the mansion, struggling with the heavy suitcase.

As I was walking, a little girl stepped out of the house, carefully staying between the white lines of the drawn path. She walked inside of the lines until she finally got to the circle, which, to my surprise, stopped in front of me. It was like she knew where I would stop. 

I studied her. She didn't look anything like Shayla or my father. Her skin was like mine, except more pale. Her hair was short and very uneven as if she cut it herself. She had a weird birthmark on her cheek that almost resembled the letter 'C'. She was missing one front tooth and the rest were a light yellowish color. She wore shorts that were nearly covered up by the long gray shirt she wore. I couldn't detect the color of her eyes. It was a mixture of gray and light blue. Her gaze was cold and unwelcoming.

I stuck out my hand. "I'm Olivia." I forced a smile.

She looked at my hand as if was the most foreign thing she had ever seen. She stared at me and shook her head real slowly. "You'll be joining your mother real soon," she whispered.

My eyes widened. My hand balled into a fist on its own and tears formed in my eyes. 

My dad ran towards her and took her by the hand. "Do not say things like that, Amber."

Amber snatched her hand away from my dad and ran inside of the house, never once leaving the white chalk lines. My eyes were still wide.

Shayla stood next to my father. "I'm sorry. Amber is a little troubled. She was adopted."

For some reason, when she said that I felt like someone punched me in the stomach and stomped on me over and over. "Adopted," I breathed the words without thinking. My thoughts were fuzzy again and I couldn't stop the tears from falling. My dad would rather adopt another child than take care his own. 

"Olivia?" My father said, reaching for my shoulder. 

I quickly stepped away from him, giving him a mean look. I wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come out. That was the thing about my anxiety, whenever I had it, the words would never come out right. Either that or I'd say something that I would regret later on. I let out a sigh and walked towards the mansion. The lines lead into the mansion and all around the house. There were white outlines of circles in almost every spot and lines all around the house and even on chairs. I stood there as my dad shut the door.

"Welcome home," Shayla said.

Home.