A Gang of Our Own

Chapter Two

It was Friday morning, and I was waiting for that woman to pick me up at the entrance of the hospital. She hadn't come in to see me once, and I was awaiting an explanation. Although... I chuckled bitterly. I think I already knew. I finally saw her walk in the building. She saw me and ran over to me.

"Oh, sweetheart, are you ok? I can't believe those boys did that to my baby."

"Funny how you never came to visit your baby." I replied cooly.

"I'm sorry, hon. But work has been so tiring..."

You piece of shit.. I wanted to say to her. But I didn't. I couldn't believe her.

"Do you forgive me, baby?"

"Whatever." I sighed. She went to fill out some paperwork, and then we were on our way home. After a few miles, she glanced over at me. "Those boys were jailed. "

"Good for them." I mumbled, not wanting to engage in any conversation.

"They all were bailed out by Thomas Richford's- that's the kid's name, right?- well his parents."

"Even better." Another mile went by.

"So did any of your friends visit you?"

I glared at her. "Well you sure as hell didn't."

She clenched her jaw and gripped the wheel. We kept driving.

We pulled into the driveway of our small house. Dad always promised us he'd give us a better place, someday. Someday. I opened the front door. I walked in and I swear, I could still smell him. I walked straight to my room and slammed the door. Trudging past my mirror I stopped. Funny how one giant bruise on your cheek could really make you look different. I looked like something awful. A mix between walking dead, and Chucky. My blue eyes seemed strangely gray and dull. My blond hair was all dingy and greasy looking. Not to mention my teeth hadn't been brushed once in three days. I desperately needed a shower, but I was so exhausted, I went to bed, fully clothed and all. It was only 10:30 a.m.

I woke up at midnight with a growling stomach. I realized that I hadn't eaten anything since a bagel at eight that morning at the hospital. I quietly walked out of my room, down the hall and into the kitchen. I grabbed a piece of bread and slathered it with peanut butter. I quickly wolfed it down, so I made another. After not getting filled with that, I made another. On my fourth slice of peanut butter and bread, I heard a voice that was all too familiar. A voice that I haven't heard in two months. It was rather deep, but soft at the same time. It belonged to my dad. I set down my bread and took cautious steps to the living room. That woman was on the couch, eating chips and watching TV. I looked at the TV and a man was talking. I swear, he sounded exactly like my dad. The agonizing pain in my heart erupted and hot, stinging tears pricked my eyes. I closed them and listened to the voice. I could hear the difference but it was so hard to notice.

That woman looked up at me and said, "Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"You know, for a woman that is too exhausted to visit her daughter in the hospital, you sure stay up late watching TV." I snapped.

She flipped me off as she took a swig of beer. I rolled my eyes and stormed upstairs. I took a shower to cool me off. Damn, I had forgetten how good a shower felt. I dried off and put my hair in a side braid that really showed off my cheek. I brushed my teeth three times and washed my face. I threw on some sweatspants and an old t-shirt of my dad's and fell asleep.

****

Monday morning came, and I was waiting for my bus to come. I was wearing a long sleeved black shirt to hide my bruise on my arm. My shoes were cushy slippers, due to my sore ankle. It still hurt to walk. Like hell, actually. But I wouldn't be caught dead complaining. My hair was pulled into a braid onthe opposite side of my bruise on my cheek. That one would be noticeable regardless of how I tried to hide it. Might as well flaunt my battle wounds.