"True love doesn't exist, does it?"
Lizzie Walter has struggled with the belief that love could actually exist. After her parents' failed relationship, Lizzie prefers to stay with her best friend, avoiding making new friends. When she ends up being...
So sorry for the late chapter, y'all! It was a busy weekend so I had no time to write. Hope this makes up for it!
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After lunch, I had English - my favorite subject. It didn't matter how bad my day had been, English always made me feel better. English was the only class where I felt comfortable. The teacher, Mrs.B, was always kind to me and never made me speak up in class - unless I raised my hand, of course.
Although English was easy and fun, it was full of the popular kids. They all either sat at the back or the front. Which meant I was stuck in the middle of them all. Perfect spot to get notes to pass forward or backwards. Sarcasm intended. Rolling my eyes, I waited for Mrs.B to begin her newest lesson.
***
It had been ten minutes and I was close to losing it. Notes were constantly being passed. Several of the popular kids had taken it upon themselves to interrupt Mrs.B on every statement she made. I could tell that she was getting frustrated as well. Watching her carefully, I listened to another one of my so called 'peers' were going on about something random whilst trying to waste time.
"Enough!"
The class went silent. Mrs.B had never raised her voice. Not even in the slightest. She still didn't now, but it was the fact that there was a threat behind her word that made everyone go quiet in fear. Honestly? I wanted to applaud the woman for finally giving up on her be kind mindset. With high schoolers - especially the snobby, rich kid kind - it was easier just to be firm and deal with the consequences later.
We all watched as she glanced around the classroom. When she spoke, there was an underlying tone that made you want to listen. "I have had enough of you all being disrespectful! I'm done! If another one of you kids interrupts my lesson before I am finished, there will be consequences. Understood?" In unison, the class nodded as a whole.
"Good. Now let's continue." And, just like that, our English teacher was back and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Another day in paradise.
***
As I walked in my front door, something was amiss. Looking around, I searched for what was missing. That's when I found it.
A letter. Simple and ordinary to the oblivious few. But not to me. My eyes welled up as I recognized the name at the bottom of the page. Alexander Whitman. My father. Reading the rest of the letter, I let out a choked sob. Tears trailed down my cheeks as I tried to regain control.
Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself as best I could. Jogging up to my room, I quickly found an extra canvas and my paints. Sitting in my window seat, I closed my eyes and let the sounds of the ocean below me fill my senses. Opening them, I put my brush to the page. The only sounds that were made for the next several hours were of my breathing, the brushes on the canvas and the ocean beneath me.
When I had finished, I took a deep breath and looked at the finished product. The image was of a girl in the middle of a raging sea. Waves that wanted to take her under and cut off her air. The only thing holding them back was a small torch. Smiling softly to myself, I cleaned my brushes and washed the paint off my hands.
After cleaning, I set about doing my homework. I had already used much of my time painting and needed the rest to get my mandatory work done. As I was finishing the last of my work, I heard the front door slam. I shut my eyes briefly, before returning to my work, hoping my mother would be asleep soon.
Of course, my luck couldn't last for one night. With my homework done and nothing left to do except eat dinner, I headed down the stairs. Before I reached the bottom, I could hear the clinking of glass and plastic. Rolling my eyes, I prepared myself for what I would see at the bottom.
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Hey y'all! So, there is a reason for me not adding anything descriptive about her mother and her addiction. It is because I care for those who may be sensitive about those topics and I want to allow everyone to read my stories so I refrain from adding anything with too much detail. You never know who could be reading your story, so I have chosen to make it appropriate for all audiences. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Super sorry for it being late! Have a great day and stay safe, y'all.
