Weaved Lines [On Hold/Revising]

Six

When Marie was six her father left the house. The last thing he told her was that she needed to lay off the pizza. She hasn't heard from him since then, almost nine full years afterwards. It's as if the moment he left the house he simply ceased to exist anymore. No one even spoke of him. Her mother remarried a year later to a guy who was almost the same size she was. He constantly told her that she was his little gal, picked her up with his man hands, and forced her to call him "Dad". Not "Daddy", "Father", or even "Pops". Dad.

She wasn't allowed to do a lot of things: drink, smoke, party, be out past nine, use the Internet after eleven pm or before five am...but the fact that she couldn't call him anything over than Dad has always steamed her.

With an angry shiver, Marie forces the thought from her head. She doesn't like "Dad". She doesn't like anything to do with family, or anyone who happens to have a perfect one. Like every other person in my 'group' here, she thinks. I don't care if I sound rotten to them. They've got perfect lives. They don't need this like I do.

"Marie, ten minutes!" Sadie calls from the bed under hers. "I wish they gave us more time. I mean, a thirty minute break? Is this Middle school?"

"Yeah," Marie says. The mattress moves under her--Sadie's feet pushing up under her. Oh my god, what's wrong with her? She lets it stand for thirty seconds. Then, "Sadie!"

"Sorry!"

"Just don't do it again."

"Sorry. I won't! Sorry," she says. Her voice, normally high pitched and annoying, is even more so.

Before Marie can say anything else, the toilet flushes and Andy walks out, drying her hands on her pants. "Quit being sorry, chick."

"Sorry! It's impossible."

"Oh my gosh, will you--"

Marie huffs, "What's with you two? I thought you were fighting." She doesn't bother to look down, but she knows what they're doing. Sadie is sliding off the bed, hitting the floor with her just-before-comical smile. Andy shakes her head, then pulls her up, their hands clasped. They probably give each other that darn I-love-you smile that's caught between best friend and lover that no one understands. My gosh, they're worse than Avery and AJ. Can't they just decide if they're dating or not? Ugh.

Andy laughs, "Yeah. We're fighting."

"Yep! Hate her to death," Sadie replies. "But, that doesn't mean we can't talk to each other. Besides...our fight will hardly last over a day. Andy loves me too much."

"Oh, I'm sure," Marie mutters. She tosses her extra pillow up in the air, watching the yellow and gray spin. The wood ceiling, painted an awful shade of avocado green, cries at her to punch it. Cries is just the beginning, though, because within seconds the urge to completely destroy the ceiling is all-consuming.

Maybe just a little hole...

It's not just the ceiling. The walls are too plain, too innocent. They're painted like nothing bad can happen and that this camp is the best place in the world. Each bed is metal, with no ladders, and line the room at odd angles. The other girls are on their phones, texting away or playing games. Sadie and Andy sit on the floor under Marie's bed, giggling about something or another.

Maybe I should put the hole in them.

She leans over and peeks at them, wondering how anyone can be like that. All her friends are real, they're chill, they don't bother each other every second like that. They don't constantly talk to her, but she likes that. They never fight with her, she loves that. They keep to themselves when they can, and talk to her when they can't hold it in.