The Loner and the Prep (bxb)

Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

I've Lost Something

Watson P.O.V

I sigh as I close the front door behind me. I am so tired. I'm honestly confused that the nurse would allow us to remain inside the office even after school hours and leave us in there alone to most definitely going home herself. I'm pretty sure that she shouldn't have left the two of us alone in a locked school, but it was her decision. Luckily the doors are openable from the inside regardless of it the doors are locked from the outside. I was easily able to walk out the front doors of the school. I felt kind of bad leaving Elijah to be sleeping in that uncomfortable position but I didn't want to wake him up and then have to talk to him. I think I would die from embarrassment if I had to talk to him. 

I lean my back against the door before I force my senses into overdrive as I alert myself. I don't where dad is but he's somewhere in the house, I saw his truck parked outside the house when I came in. It's only six so he should still be awake but he might also asleep from drinking as much as he usually does after a day of work. 

I take a hesitant step towards the kitchen peaking my head inside and instantly relax slightly to not see him inside the kitchen then turn towards the living room. That's when I find my father, unconscious asleep in his recliner. I relax completely before walking calmly into my bedroom and sitting my bag down before opening my bag to take everything out when my heart stops. Where is my book? Inside that book is my lyrics. Sappy I know. I like to write lyrics in a book, that and poems. Like really depressing poems. I think it's just my way to express myself. I mean, I have to somewhere. I can't keep all my depression trapped inside myself. It would ruin me after a while. It really would. I don't think I could deal with it all piling onto me. I need some kind of release and poetry and lyrics just happen to me mine. 

I let out a sigh, thinking about all the places that my book could have been left and I come to the conclusion that I probably left it in the nurse's office because my bag was just thrown against the floor with carelessness so it most likely fell underneath the bed. Well, I'll go get it tomorrow. Right now I have to make dinner for my dad because he will probably wake up soon. I really don't want to deal with his wrath today. 

I walked down the stairs calmly before walking into the kitchen. I walk over to the cabinet that holds all the pans and pots. I nearly drop the pains as I wince, a burning feeling coming from my hands, most definitely from the glass cuts. I sigh as I gently wrap my hand around the handle of the pan and gently place it on top of the stove. Glancing at what I had as an option to cook, I decided simple pasta would be a great thing to cook, regardless of the fact that my father didn't like pasta very much. I didn't have many options though. It's getting late and I don't feel like laying out something big for him to not appreciate it. He will never appreciate it. I can't stand it when I spend so much time trying to make him happy, even though it's only with food, for him to just say 'blah' and throw almost all of it away. He's thrown the entire plate away and the pan, with the food in it, regardless of the fact I hadn't eaten yet. 

I like to eat as well. My father doesn't take these type of things into consideration. Sometimes, I don't think he actually cares about me. Then again, it isn't like I do anything to try to gain his affection. It's kind of hard to do so when he's always drunk and threatening to smash a bottle over the top of my head. I was just used to that kind of relationship with him, even though I wish he wouldn't threaten me or harm me. 

Oh well. 

Glancing at the door to the living room I remember to be quiet. My father was sleeping, most likely to rid of his hangover. He usually wakes up with a headache. I walk over to the cabinet holding our medications and grab some ibuprofen, and fill a glass with water, before quietly walking into the living room and sitting it on the coffee table. I scamper away in case he woke up and saw me standing there. That wouldn't end well for me if he did. 

I walked back into the kitchen and waited until the water was boiling before pouring the noodles into the pot. Putting the lid on top of the pot. I turned, my back facing the stove before I sank down until I was sitting and rested my head in my head. I don't know how much more I can do. I can't pretend everything is okay forever. It doesn't work that way. It will kill me to continue on like this for much longer. I don' t think I can take this much longer. It's starting to wear on me. 

After a couple minutes I make myself get up to stir the noodles, and to begin the sauce, so I could just pour that crap in there. The noodle sauce is the power kind, so I do have to home make some. I know, lazy of me. That might be the reason my father dislikes them. Even though it isn't great it's simple and doesn't take that much time to make, even though it isn't like I have anything better to do. Because based on my father's words, apparently, I don't.