Trying Not to Strangle the Bradley Boys

Chapter 1-Blinded By My Tears

Chapter 1-Blinded By My Tears

I groan and turn over in my bed.  Sunlight filters in through my open blinds, hitting me straight in the face.  I wince and scrunch up my face, throwing my hand up to block it.  My alarm clock is ringing.  J-Lo and Lil Wayne belt out "I'm Into You" from my radio. 

"Nanananananaeh Nananananaeh.  I'm into you, I'm into you..." 

Oh god, SHUT UP!!!!!

I turn over and fumble underneath my nightstand.  I find the plug and pull hard.  The old socket is almost torn out of the wall as I unplug the clock radio.  As the music stops I notice a heavy snoring coming from my floor.  I open my eyes and look at the floor.

I grimace.

"Good morning, Ma...," I mumble, swinging my legs over the bed and stand up, swaying slightly. 

I glance at my clock radio.  Shit, unplugged it...  I plug it back in and the time flashes 6:30.  I have an hour before my last day of school.  I look around my room.  Bottles are strewn everywhere.

Oh, Ma....

I slowly go around the room, picking them all up and stuffing them under my arms.  I gently pry the vodka bottle out of Ma's grasp.  Looks like she crashed in my room again...

I head down the stairs, my arms full of bottles.  I dump them in the recycling bin and wipe my hands on my pj's.  Ew.  Sticky bottles.  With what, I don't wanna know. 

I turn around from the recycling bin and jump about a foot in the air.  Someone is sitting at my kitchen table, dressed smartly in a suit and tie with hair slicked back with about a ton of gel.  He's reading the newspaper.  I can't see his face.

"Oh, it's you...," I say, walking towards him.

"Who else did you expect it to be?" he replies.

"Well, let's just say this isn't the first time I've found a man in my kitchen."

"Your kitchen?"

"Well, it's not really Ma's kitchen, is it?" I ask defensively.

He's making me very tired.  More tired than I already am.  He sighs.

"No.  It's not.  Where is your mother, by the way?" he asks.

"Upstairs," I reply.

As always.

"Ah," he says.

That's about all he can say anymore. 

"Well, I gotta get ready for school."

"I'll drive you."

"You don't have to do that."

"Yes, I do.  What, you expect your mother to drive you?"

"No, I walk," I hiss back at him.

He looks appalled at the venom in my voice.  He puts down his newspaper and rubs his face in a tired way.  I just notice the bags under his eyes. 

"Where have you been all night?" I whisper to him.

"Getting your mother out of jail.  She got arrested for drunk driving."

A tear slides out of my cheek but I wipe it away.

"Dad, can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Don't give me that shit!  Why are you still married to Ma if you're barely around and hate her?!"

He sighs again.  I can see I'm tiring him out, but I don't care.  He doesn't seem to care when I'm tired.  "Go get your mother, Elle.  Take this money and bale out your mother, Elle.  Take her drinks away, Elle."  And he always says these things in the middle of the night, usually around one o'clock in the morning.