Brighter Places [🗸]

13. sometimes, i miss my parents

so i asked my parents for two additional ear piercings and my dad asked me if it was to impress a girl and. i didn't ask to be attacked </3

however, on a more serious note, i'm genuinely just into the look. but anyways.

***

I'm awaken by the sound of Ms. Willis yelling.

Which brings me to the slightly disappointing reality that I've arrived at another day in paradise. The same old bed, the same old room. Everything clean and sleek and yet somehow uncomfortable.

"Jason!"

And luckily enough, it's my name. I bring the blankets over my head, making a weak attempt at sinking beneath the mattress, and letting the entire thing consume me, because I'm in one of those sinking moods in which I don't fucking want to.

"I told you to water the lawn!"

She didn't, but okay. Not like I'm about to tell Willis that, though, especially seeing that I'm not exactly in the mood for an onslaught of verbal abuse. I let out a huff of air, sliding off of my mattress, meandering over to the doorway.

I make my way downstairs, Ms. Willis and Angie materializing in the foyer. Ms. Willis glances over at me for a brief moment before returning her attention to my sister. 

"Angela, dust my trophy shelf and the foyer. I'm having guests later." She says to her. Angie nods dutifully, but meet my eyes with a sardonic grin that I return.

With that, I push my way through the back doors and onto the lawn.

Fucking hate the lawn. And my deeply-rooted hatred of it is for a multitude of reasons. One being that it's insanely massive, stretching out like what? Ten acres? Meaning that it's hell to water that shit with the hose.

Theoretically, the sprinkler could be used. But yard work involves pulling out those nasty-ass reeds. Then, Ms. Willis has me cut all fifteen thousand acres of the grass. Had it been entirely up to her, I'd probably be using a toenail clip to do so. 

However, while she's oblivious in the house, I usually pay this random dude—Marco— to cut all of the grass. Kind of entertaining to see him hop into that little lawn-mowing vehicle and hum along to some music as he does so.

But of course, Marco hasn't shown up around the area lately, and frankly, I have no idea where the hell my main man went. Wouldn't be surprised if Ms. Willis had him chased off of our property. So, with that, I shake all thoughts away and stoop down to the grass, getting to reed-pulling.

Ms. Willis, of course, is shouting on the phone, probably ranting to her friends about those no-good domestic workers that have the audacity to ask for more pay, or about how stressful her life has been, you know, with partying all day and night and inheriting a fortune.