Our Climax

~chapter 1~

Today is the first day of August. The air is brisk and cool, but slightly foggy. I'm in my room, and as I enter the kitchen to prepare my breakfast, I hear something horrific. Something I never wanted to hear. "Don't you even THINK about doing that!" Mom yells. "I don't care anymore. Forget it...we're done." dad replies back in complete anger. They both walked off, away from each other. The room was now completely silent. 

I really hope it doesn't happen to me, I think. "Delilah, pack your bags! We're leaving. For good" Mom tells me. I had a feeling this was going to happen soon enough. I held back my tears, and swallowed hard. I knew this was the last time we would be together as a family. I already suffer from severe social anxiety, and I'm an only child. I would do anything to be a family again. I don't own many things, my parents never liked me that much. They dreamed of having a golden child, one with beautiful, long blonde hair, and blue eyes like the sea. But they got a short, thin, brunette with emerald eyes. You would think your family would love you just for who you are, but not mine. I pack my suitcase, filling it with my essentials; blankets, my pillow, clothes, and my books. Reading is my passion, my only passion for that matter. Mom tells me that we will be moving into an apartment. She says that it will be a nice, comfortable one, so at least I'll have that. I will be starting my sophomore year of high school in a few weeks, and I'm not excited. I say my final goodbyes to my father, although, this won't be the last time I see him, It will be the last in a while, because we are moving to Maine. 

Today is the day. The day Mom and I move into the apartment. I previously lived in Vermont. So it will only be two states away from Dad, but its still a very, very long distance. It's a five hour trip from my previous house, and after an emotional and tiring drive, we pull up to the the large development of apartments. Mom doesn't say a word to me, except or the occasional "grab this" or "follow this way." After a few minutes of walking, people start crowding in. I look at my small watch, and it reads 11:43. It's lunch hour. My heart starts racing, and I can feel my forehead sweating. I look down at my trembling hands carrying Mom's suitcase. In a shaky voice, I ask Mom if we can pick up the pace.  If I'm out here any longer, I swear I'm gonna blow. Eventually, the sight of people calms down. Finally, we're at our apartment building. I silently glance up at the tall building, the sun reflecting off of it in a peaceful way. I take the paper that has our new address on it, and read through it thoroughly. It says "Third floor, room number 6." We take the elevator up to our room. I carefully examine the expensive rug on the bottom on the elevator.  I notice the glass sides, and the views of the entire town glistens in the afternoon light. I'm never out doing things typical girls do. I don't go shopping for Gucci or lululemon. I don't go for  "lady's nights out" or join any clubs. I only will go to the books store, but only if there's a few people inside. Seeing the real world for the first time in such a long time, the sight of it catches my eye like stars in the night sky. 

"Here it is." Mom says in a tone I've never heard before. It sounded sorrowful and guilty, and made me feel the same way. I catch on to Mom and Dad's emotions, and feel them, too. The door of our new house is made of a gorgeous oak wood, all glossed up and shiny. I turn the handle, and breathe in the air of a brand new home. Mom already had all of our furniture put in before we arrived. I put down our bags, and walk through every room, appreciating everything, from the paint on the wall, to the glass on the windows. Mom yells over to me and says, "Delilah, grab my bags, and bring them into my bedroom." She didn't tell me where it was located, so I navigated myself through the rooms. I never new apartments could be this big. It's almost like a house, a really nice house. I find the master bedroom, and my jaw almost drops...that was a lie, it did drop, all the way. There was a window, showing a far back scene of the ocean, with cars driving by, one at a time. I place Mom's bags down on her bed, so nicely made with not a wrinkle in the sheets. I walk back out to the living area, with a big tv on the wall. "Mom?" I ask. "Where..is my room?" She doesn't say anything, but just points to a pretty, white and wooden door to the right of me. I handle my suitcase and backpack, and open the door, ever so carefully, almost as if it were made of delicate paper. My eyes widen to see something so beautiful. Light grey painted walls, and a rosewood colored bedspread. There is a closet, a desk, and a dresser, all for me. I'm so distracted by all the features, that I don't see the sliding door to a balcony with a covered shade, in case it rains. I feel the glass door, and open it, slowly. It slides open, revealing the same view as Mom's. The August breeze chills my face, and somewhat satisfies me. I walk back into the main part of my room, and sniff the air. It smells like a brand new book, I think. Just then, it hits me. Books...school! It starts in five days, and I'm not even close to prepared. 

I sit on my perfectly comfortable bed, and think to myself how I hadn't cried at all today. Just at that moment, my face begins to burn, and I feel  a warm tear roll down my cheek. I flop into a fluffy pillow resting near the headboard of my bed. Mom walks in, and senses my sadness, but just tells me "Get up and make yourself lunch. I don't want you to sit around in your room all day and starve yourself." I already know that what she said is exactly what I was going to do all day. Or week, or month. Possibly even year, but it hurts my brain too much to think about that. No one even cares how I feel in my family life, so what about school? Everyone is going to hate me, I think. I'll be attending Cheverus High School, which is right next to the beach. I don't even know what I'm doing to do. I'm not organized what so ever, and I don't make any sense when it comes to algebra. Even when I was little, I didn't have good grades, I had C's and D's. I still do. I usually don't do my homework, I just sit on my bed and cry about all the things that people had said to me that day. Now that I'm in high school, mean kids get worse and worse. Once school starts, I'll be praying that there is at least one nice person. Even then, I won't have the guts to befriend anyone.