Words cannot describe my happiness for being faraway from New Jersey.
I arrived home, in Seattle, Washington. I can practically taste the rain from the inside of the airport. I'm waiting in the baggage claim area, searching around for my small black suitcase. I spot it and quickly grab it, making my way to the rental car area. I search my suitcase for the money I had gotten when I first packed and give the correct amount to the man at the counter. He gives me a set of keys and directs me to the spot where my car is. I thank him and round my way to the trunk and stuff my suitcase in there and get my way to the drivers seat.
I start the car and pull out of the parking lot with ease. I make my way to home silently, not bothering to plug in my iPod to the car with the provided cord. I just keep driving and count the number of red cars I pass by. After 45 minutes, I realized that I counted 40 cars. Damn.
I merge onto the exit that take me towards my house. After 10 miles I pass by the usual Starbucks, it's evening lights on early at the time of 5:30 PM. I take the right and down the bumpy road that leads to the home of my drunk father.
The lights are off in the house. The black toyota is missing from the driveway. Home sucky home, I think. That's all it will be. I park in the driveway and sit there for a moment.
"What are you doing here Elysia..." I quietly say to myself. I look around the neighborhood. I see a few kids I've never seen before playing in the yard next door. I look around the yard and think. Since when does our yard have absolutely no beer bottles, cans or condoms? Yes, condoms. My dad throws them out the window.
I smooth my fringe back and pop open the car door. I step out of the black Audi and to the back to grab my suitcase. I pull it with me and check under the mat to see the spare key is still in its exact place. I place it in the lock and turn it until I hear the click, then walk through the doorway.
The place is trashed. It's not the way I would've left it. There's wrappers, bottles, cans, more wrappers, plates, containers, clothes. We need a maid. Oh wait, I'm sure she'd end up fucking my dad. Fabulous.
I don't even bother going to clean it up. I just walk around the house, searching for some kind of life. Even the plants are dead. I make my way very cautiously towards my room. I push the door open slowly and hear the creak. I poke my head through it and see that the walls are spray painted all over.
Emo.
Go die.
I'm glad you're gone.
Faggot.
And on the My Chemical Romance poster, the one I have always treasured, is written "My Chemical Fags".
I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to let everything out. I check the window and see it's closed. I pull and tug at my hair and pace around the room. Then I let out a blood curdling scream. A scream of anger and frustration.
I fall to my knees and keep screaming, and feel hot, salty tears fall down my cheeks and stray to my lips. I shake and sob loudly, placing my hands over my hears. I cry more until I can't cry and my stomach aches. I wait a few minutes and stand back up. I run out of the house and to my car, tugging my suitcase along. I through it back in and quickly back into the car.
I breathe loudly and grip the wheel with my fingers. I pound the wheel with my fists and let a few more tears slide past. I fumble with the keys and stick the correct one in the ignition and quickly pull out of the driveway and to town.
I stop at the busiest Starbucks and park outside the coffee shop. I'm in need of coffee. I push past people and to the line. I'm behing a girl with short purple hair, who's about the same height as me. She's about an inch taller. She turns to me and smiles, adjusting her black framed glasses.
"Hello, I'm- Oh my god you're Elysia!" She realizes.
"Sh. I don't want attention attracked to me," I warn her. She quickly nods and orders her a Vanilla Latte. I order the usual Mocha Frappe and tell them my first name and wait with the random girl by the counter.
"I'm Alex, by the way." She says.
I nod. "You're Irish?" I notice her slightly different accent.
"Yes! Finally I don't get something like British!" Alex says, smiling to the ceiling.
I nod and point to the counter to show her that her drink is ready. I grab mine before they even say the first syllable of my name and walk with Alex outside to one of the tables under the umbrella. We sit across from each other.
"So, why aren't you with the guys?" Alex asked.
I shrug. "Stuff."
"Tell me. I'm a good listener."
I sigh. I look at her and think. Should I tell her? She looks innocent. Elysia, you need to tell somebody.
So I tell her the whole story. Right down to the end where I find my room covered in spray paint and hate. Alex nods throughout the whole time. I sip on my Mocha until it's no more, and I have to throw it away. The rest of the story my throat is dry.
"That's tough..." Alex starts out. "You need to go back."
"What?" I frown at her. "You're mad."
"You're the first American I've met that says mad instead of crazy. Anyway, yes. Go to Gerard. He cared enough to run back to the airport. He called repeatedly. Come on, Elysia. He love you. Gerard must've had a pissy morning."
She's right. God damn it, I hate it when people I barely know are right.
"Well, it's back to the airport tomorrow."
