Demoralized

Chapter 1

I lean my head against the cold window of my mom's Honda, watching the landscape fly past me. Outside, the sky is grey and the road stretches on forever. Raindrops slide down the glass and I watch them race eachother, mentally placing bets on the winner. With a sigh, I put my headphones in and play my music on shuffle.

To my left, I can see that the land extends for about ten feet and then tapers off into a cliff. Water lies beneath it, and even though I can't see the waves crashing against the rock, I am able to look out at the ocean's immense vastness. It continues on far past my eye can see, and I imagine it reaching the ends of the earth.

It's not the bright turquoise waters with white powdered sand beaches, like I imagined it to look. No, it's dark and restless, deep and powerful.

The waves are hitting the cliffside hard; I can't see down far enough, but I can tell by the spray that splashes up over the top. I roll down the window and lean out. Immediately, I feel the bone-chilling cold. Not only is it cold, but it's wet. The salty mist beats against my skin added with the force of the wind and I have to cover my nose to keep it from freezing.

I look up. The gloomy sky transmits a feeling of drowsiness. It's the kind of weather that makes you want to crawl into bed and sleep all your stress away.

"Trinity, roll up the window. It's freezing," my mom scolds. She looks at me through the rear view mirror with a stern look.

I roll my eyes and close the window. My mom recently decided I was too much to handle. And so her way of dealing with this is to send me to live with my dad starting this new school year. After being admitted to urgent care due to alcohol poisoning and drug use, fighting with her nonstop, and disregarding her sanity by going to parties, my mom has completely given up. She was devastated, asking God how to deal with such a screw up like me. Not that I blame her. I'm a mess.

Back home, I was so mad at the world. Hell, I still am. I hate my dad for leaving me. I hate my mom for sending me away. I hate my friends for never being there for me. And I hate feeling so alone and empty all the time. I'm emotionless now, I feel nothing. It's like the more pages I turn, another blank one follows. So, here I am now. Going through a new "experience" as my mom likes to call it.

We've been driving all day from Nevada to get to our destination.

Northern California.

I've only ever been there once when I was little; to visit San Francisco. That was the only time I've ever seen the ocean.

A few hours go by, and finally we pull into a rocky driveway. I haven't seen my dad in four years, ever since my parents divorced. I open the car door and angrily slam it shut. The sudden coldness hits me like a baseball bat as I try to rid the numbness on my fingertips by bringing them to my pink lips, balancing out the temperature.

The house is big. Bigger than what I'm used to. I step back to get it all in my vision, it's a light gray color with dark blue shutters. There's a staircase leading up to a porch with a big gray door and a white garage beneath the staircase. The porch is outlined with a white gate and has a patio swing with a table next to it, piled with wet magazines. I step back down to the black Ford and take out my suitcase from the back. My mom doesn't say a word to me as I follow her to the door. She knocks firmly and steps back to be aligned with me. Immediately, my dad opens up, an irritatingly big smile makes his way onto his face as soon as his eyes land on us. I nearly forgot what he looked like-black hair, now mostly gray, with light blue eyes. Slight stubble spreads across his face, sided with a grin that makes my stomach churn.

"Trinity! Susan! It's so good to see you both," he says almost too happily and steps forward to hug my mom. It's like he forgot what he did to us. He just left, not a care in the world with how it would affect my mom or I. He makes me sick. And I hate my mom for sending me here to endure living in the same house with him. He looks at me with sympathetic eyes, "You've grown up quite a bit since I last saw you." He pinches his lips together, sending me a look of unwanted adoration. "You're beautiful." He steps forward to hug me, but I quickly jerk back to enlarge the space between us.

I scowl at him and give him a disapproving look, "Don't you think it's a little sad that you're saying that to your own daughter?" I take a deep breath. I brush past him carrying my suitcase behind me. "Not even a phone call in four fucking years," I say under my breath. I hear the door close behind me, with no noise fulfilling the house but the steady heartbeat from my chest and my boots colliding with the dark wood floor. Muffled voices come from outside, and I automatically know they are talking about me.

Too my left, a big spiraling staircase leads to the second floor. I don't hesitate to run up them, not caring about the rest of his house. As I walk, I see a huge hallway with many, many doors. How on earth will I know what room I'm staying in? And how the hell did he become so rich? I continue to step forward and open up a few doors until I give up completely. I lean against a wall, and slide my back down. I bring my knees to my face, and duck my head in between them as I let go of a breath I didn't know I was holding.

A few minutes later, I hear a rustling noise in front of me. I shoot my head up, raising my chin to look unaffected by my surroundings. My mom is standing there with her arms crossed and an irritated look on her face. She pauses, discomfort filling the room.

"Trinity..." she lets out a long steady breath. "Don't give him such a hard time. I know things did not work out the way you wanted, and I know he could have been better about everything. But, please just try to work things out." She begs, sitting next to me and clasps her arms around me.

I lean my head back to the wall, staring at the ceiling. I send a curt nod in agreement.

A smile returns on her face, as I fake one. "Thank you," she whispers, "I will miss you very much."

"You too," I reply nonchalantly.
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I unpack my last box in my room, and move towards the back to aspect it all. The walls are black, with paintings I hung up earlier and light brown wood flooring. My bed has a tall white bed frame with a red, black and white duvet. In all honesty, I really do love this room, it fits me perfectly.

I drop my hands from my hips and pick out clothes to wear for my first day of school tomorrow.

I walk over and open my closet, deciding on what to wear tomorrow. I choose black jeans, black combat boots, and a red flannel. I step into my bathroom and spend 10 minutes trying to turn on the shower. There's no way I'm going to ask my dad how to work it. Eventually, I give up and put on my pajamas. I brush my teeth and hair and crawl into bed, grasping my sketchbook. I stay up, leaving the world behind by letting my fingers make works of art. This is how I express myself, how I escape the atrocities of the world.

My eyelids grow heavy as I decide to go to bed. I look down at my drawing, a rose. A rose with more thorns than petals. Like me, more flaws than decency. I open the nightstand drawer and toss my sketchbook into it. I turn off my lamp, and pray to myself that my dad won't attempt to talk to me tonight, before slowly drifting off to sleep thinking of how dreadful school will be tomorrow. If only I knew...