Soul Stitched (book one)

Chapter 2: Wilt

        I dug my key out of my back pocket of my jeans. I stuck it into the key hole and push the rusted door open. I scrunched my nose as the smell of pizza and potato chips hit me. There were beer bottles scattered across the floor.

        My mom's ex was lounging on the sofa watching a football game. I rolled my eyes and tried to make a run to my room without being noticed. I hate my mom's ex, my supposed-to-be dad. I hate his guts and his face. I wish he'd just blow up or something.

        "Hey Wilt." Frank said, not taking his eyes off the screen.

        "Hi...dad." I muttered taking down my hood that hid my black spiky hair. Oh well for going unnoticed.

        "Nice hair cut." he grunted.

        "Um. It's always been like this." I grumbled looking down. My mom walked into the room, hair still wet from the shower.

         "Mom, what's Frank doing here?" I whispered.

         "Uh well..." her voice trailed off.

        "Okay, never mind." I said shaking my head. I headed up the stairs.

         "Wilt, please-" I slammed the door shut cutting off her words. I knew she hated being alone, my mother. But she has me, what does she need Frank for?

Why is he here?

        I traced the pattern on my hand, a black swirl. I was born with it, or so my mom said. I pulled the covers over my head, blocking out the light. I watched my arms slowly turn into a gray color.

        They've always done that. I know it's strange but it puts me at ease. I gave a happy sigh and absorbed the darkness. This is were I belong, unknown and unseen.

When I trudged down the stairs, Frank was in the same position.

        "Wilt, pass me a beer." he called over to me. I sighed and rummaged through the fridge.

        "Here." I threw the bottle to him. He tried to focus on me but his eyes crossed. He was more drunk than he was last time I saw him at Christmas. That's not something I like to talk about...

        "You're goth?" Was all he could manage.

        "Yes Frank." I muttered.

        Yes I am goth. I'm only 12, soon to be 13, but when your mom is single she doesn't really have a say in what you do.

        My hair is in a spiked pixie cut and I wear heavy makeup making me look older then I truly am.

I glared at my dad one last time before running outside.

        Being out in the streets felt good. I sucked in a deep breath of fresh air and sighed. It felt good to be outside instead of being cooped up inside or in school all day. Escaping the nauseating aroma of Frank. It was turning to fall, the leaves were turning a lovely orange yellow color. Soon they would turn brown and I'd have to rake that up, but I like to enjoy fall before the work.

        I always get strange looks wherever I go. I know what people think, too. Probably something like "What kind of parents does that girl have?" But the problem is, people like to judge before knowing the whole story, which is why I have no friends. People just assume that I'm a terrible person, when really, this is my own cry for help for someone to save me from my crazy world. But no one hears me, because one look at me and they turn the other way, as if I'm some kind of monster. Maybe I am one. It's not all that bad, you get used to it.

        After a long walk and skipping school, I went back home and trudged back into my room. I could hear Frank yelling at my mom. I put in ear buds and blasted my favorite song through them. I picked up The Hunger Games and tried to ignore the rest of the world. But I could still hear him, Frank.

        "I said get me a beer!" he had yelled. My mother started to say something.

        "Emily, listen to me!"

"Frank, I'm making dinner, just one second-"

        That's when I heard him hit her. I closed my eyes and let the tears fall down my cheeks. Why did I have to live in such a messed up world?