~Dead Love~

Chapter one//-A new beginning-//

               This story does not include sex scenes. It is appropriate for most ages.

                                 TW: Blood, alcohol, slight abuse in this chapter
                    (including bad grammar and cringe lol)

        As I woke up to the sound of my father yelling into the phone, I blinked, stunned by the brightness of the day. I reach over to my flip phone, pulling it out of the desk drawer to stare at its shiny cover as it glistened in the morning sun. I had just gotten it for my 20th birthday, and it was the newest edition. I looked up towards the ceiling fan and heard it whirl above my head. The air was refreshing on my hot face due to it being summer. I didn't sleep a wink, but that wouldn't stop me from arguing with my father. I was staying with him for summer break, and even though I didn't want to stay with him, I was too poor to live anywhere else.

        I pulled the covers from my bright pink pajamas and stood up with a heavy sigh. As I pushed the blankets aside, I decided to head towards the bathroom. I yawned and looked at the clock above my head. It read "9:30 a.m." That was fine since it was a Sunday as well as a summer morning. I washed my face off and looked in the mirror. Nope, never mind—shouldn't have done that. My face was smeared with eyeliner from last night, along with a messy bun slowly falling out of place. "I'm not going to deal with that, I thought to myself. I wiped my face with my arm and headed out of my bathroom for some breakfast. On the right side of the hallway, I could still hear my father yelling in his room. I rolled my eyes and wished I could give him peace of my mind. I hated living with my parents, especially the fact that they would always make everything my fault. Well, I wouldn't say parents, only if I were including my stepmother, who was the equivalent of an evil witch.

        "Amy, since you moved in, the garbage truck hasn't come as often!" "Amy, the last time I saw our cat Sammy was the night you moved in!" "Amy, why didn't you take out the garbage? It's your fault it's full anyways." That's all they ever said to me. Amy, Amy, Amy. Why couldn't they handle it themselves? Ugh. I opened the cabinet door and ruffled through the variety of off-brand cereals. All from the dollar store. I picked one with a form of marshmallow-shaped sweets in it and plopped it onto a chair.

        As I ate, I looked around the room, humming to myself in a bright tune. As I looked through the window, I could see It was a cloudy day, and there was little light from the sun. I loved cloudy days the most; they gave me a sense of comfort and love. They seemed to be like a big, fluffy child that you would cradle and hug. I suddenly heard loud footsteps coming from my bedroom. What was that? I thought to myself, "Scared." I tiptoed over to my room and found my drunken father holding my flip phone, red in the face. He had a terrible look on his face, almost making me laugh. Instead, I made a weird grunting sound, like a horse.

        "Mphhhmmm!" I muffled myself, holding my hand to my mouth. My father stared at me, scowling, and clenched my phone harder. His eyes showed no signs of affection or sympathy. In fact, I wasn't sure if there was anyone home to begin with. But he sure was raged.

        "Your phone is being taken away, you little brat! Next time, think about whining about 'everything we make you do' and instead make yourself useful!" He grabbed me and pushed me aside roughly, giving me a bruise on my lower back. Before I could say another word, he stormed out, almost as if he had a gray cloud over him. I was burning mad and yelled into a pillow. I couldn't stand for this, and I won't stand for this. I grabbed my hat and coat and ran to the door, slamming it on my way out.

        I was so done with my drunken father and lazy mother. None of them understood me for who I am. How truly different and quirky I was. How I wasn't like other girls. It didn't matter any less, but I was still irritated. I took the sidewalk in a raging fire all the way down to the creepy old cemetery. It was covered in flowers and big trees.

                                                                          'The cemetery'

        As I walked into the path of thorny flowers, I looked around, enjoying the scenery. The cemetery was one of my happy places, knowing no one would dare enter it. The idea that people lived underground and were dead made me curious and intrigued. Well, not lived, but used to be alive at least. I loved the thought of zombies. Even then, when I was a little girl, I was never scared of them in the old cartoons or storybooks. I always thought they were the best thing that could ever happen. But, never the less, it seemed as if that idea would never come to be, no matter how much I hoped.

        It was evening by the time I had finally gotten bored. I looked around, not wanting to go back to my house, so instead I started picking pink flowers for a bouquet. I read tombstones as I passed with a weary smile. I didn't like the thought of dying myself, but it was still so interesting. I wonder if one could ever reverse the zombie-like formula and turn them back into humans. I finally found a good spot under a tree once I was done picking my flowers. I then found a rock and ruffled for my notebook in my pocket. Grabbing the bouquet, I singled them out and placed them neatly in a row. As I opened the notebook, multiple excess flower petals flew onto my lap. Shaking the book, I could see more come out until it was empty.

            I flipped to the next clean page. Pulling one of the flowers out, I pressed it on my notebook with a rock. I then waited 20 minutes and pulled a piece of tape out. Then, I continued this process, taping each flower that had been pressed and filling the page up. Once I was done, I flipped through the other pages, looking at the old and stained sheets. All of them had different-colored flowers sketched out and analyzed by me. I glowed and smiled to myself at all the work I had done.

                                                          'Sketchbook and flowers'

        I closed my book, getting up, finally ready to return home. I stretched my arms out wide and yawned, blinking rapidly. I picked up my book and started walking towards the exit. My pant leg got caught on a thorn, and as I walked on, I tripped. I fell down on some freshly sprouted flowers, and as I grumbled, I opened my eyes to see a figure standing in the far distance. How embarrassing! I thought to myself. As I got up and started to bend down to pick up all my items, I caught another glimpse of the mysterious figure. He was standing hunched over with messy hair. He seemed rather strong and had a wide chest. I pushed back the small detail of something gushy and red (probably blood) that was dripping from his face. It didn't matter—I practically started drooling. I scurried to the exit and tried to open the gate, which was impracticably shut. Pulling on it made me blush harder as the man watched me from afar.

        Finally, opening the gates, I launched down the sidewalk, returning home. I felt so flustered by how clumsy I acted. But I also felt something else. I felt watched.