I sighed in relief. I had finally made it. I sat in my car, outside of my childhood home: my only home. I turned off the car, and got out. Nobody was living here anyway, and Riot had said that she stills owns it. I walked to the back of the car, and got out my duffle bag that I packed.
Slowly walking up the the broken drive way, screaming erupted down the street, a car beeped in the distance, and some drunk sung an off-tune key. This was what I grew up hearing, this was all that I had ever known. I walked to the front door, and pulled out my key ring. I always kept the key, just in case if I ever came back. It was a little pink key with a bunny on it, and the other side said "It's All About Me!" It was cute when Riot first brought it home to me, when I was seven. But now being almost twenty, it seemed childish and silly.
I opened the door hesitantly. Did I really want to be here? I could just go stay at some hotel. But I couldn't. I had to stay here, it just felt right. I walked into the house, my high heels, from the night before, clicked against the still crappy white tiled floor. I walked down the hall, staring at all of the pictures that hung on the walls. Pictures of me growing up, Riot, and the one that never moved: a picture of Riot, Dad and I. I paused at that one. Then, I moved it. I grabbed it, and placed it face down on the table that stood against the wall.
I kept walking, and met the living room. The same leather couch stood where it always had, my chair was still by the crummy fireplace, and the walls were still the same dark blue. The only thing different in here was the old black and white TV that I had been so used to, was upgraded to a slightly less shitty color one.
I turned away from there, and all of the memories made in there. I walked into the kitchen, and stood there in the door frame. I glanced at the table, and flashbacks of sitting there eating every meal with Riot, Vixen, and Angelo. Making jokes, telling stories (real and not), and just being us. That was what I considered my family; my self harming mother, two love-birds who were like my brother and sister, and myself. That was my family then, but now its Dad, Little Andy, Hayden, Blake, and myself.
I dragged myself out of there, and then up the stairs. I stopped in front of the bathroom, lighty pushing the door to the side. The still rust colored blood stains still dotted the white floor. Everything was still the same in there too. Same rug, shower curtain, everything.
I then walked to the one room, that I dreaded: my room. I pushed the door with great force, and almost started crying. Everything was the same. The walls were still the same deep purple, the bed was still gray sheets with a black comforter, and the ugly green rug still sat there in the same spot. My little knick-knacks and books that I had left, still lined my self's. All of this made me start crying. I was almost positive that Riot would've done something with this room since I had moved out; at least get rid of the trash on the dresser, or the test (that I had failed) on my desk. Anything. She should've done something.
I walked into the room, and laid down on the bed. It still felt the same, the mattress soft but worn in. The sheets still were soft and somehow still smelt of fabric softener, just faintly though. I got up, but left my bag on the bed. I walked over to my bookcase, and picked up this box. It was a beautiful box, honestly, but it held such dark things: my demons. I slowly opened the top, and the tears started flowing again.
The box only held three objects; a letter, razor, and a lighter. I sighed, picking up the letter.
"Whoever reads this;
I'm sorry that you had to be the one who had to find me like this. So broken, so bruised.
So damaged.
I'm truly sorry for the mess as well, I hope its not big of a mess, and I would clean it myself if I could. I hate to imagine anybody cleaning up this mess that I made. Please, also, tell my mom, Vixen, and Angelo that I love them and that they meant the world to me.
And if my father ever comes back, please tell him that I'm not mad, and that his little girl always loved him. No matter how bad he acts, and that it didn't matter that he left. I still love him, and all that I can remember of him is him being young, with long black hair, blue eyes, and pale skin. I've held onto this image my entire life, though that's only a short amount of time. That moment, when our eyes connected when he looked up at me when he left, has, I think, defined me as a person, and always will. It shows how even when he left me and my mother he still took that half of a second too look up through my window and look at me.
And that means all the world to me.
I love you and my mom, Vixen, Angelo, and even my father. Thank you for a great thirteen years, everybody!
Love,
Ivy Haven"
