Atticus

This is my new paranormal romance "Atticus" Chapters 1-3

Chapter 1

Lilburn, Georgia – 1992

~~Candice~~

In a manner of minutes, I'll be walking into my fourth high school and everyone will be staring at the new girl. We've moved so many times in the past three years, I'm nauseated before I even leave this crappy apartment. This time, we've landed in the middle of small town Georgia because Mom ran out of money and needs a job. Again.

Thank God this is my last year in high school.

"Candice!" Mom screams from downstairs. "Where's my tip money?" The bite in her voice practically slaps me in the face.

Mom's already pissed and it's only seven thirty in the morning. That might be a new record. She must have forgotten where she hid it again, but I can't tell her that or even admit that I can usually find it within minutes.

I'm pretty sure I know why she's been more on edge than normal. Every penny she had saved was eaten up by having to pay our first and last month's rent and now we're living on her leftover tips.

Clearly, I need to be more careful because I have been hoarding some of it. Not much, just a few dollars here and there because living for days without tampons and shampoo finally sent me over the edge. I promised myself I would only do it once, but that didn't stick either. Sneaking money has become a dirty little habit, but one I only do when she's passed out. Which is often. I made a joke with myself (as if it excuses my bad behavior), calling them my "dirty dollars." I'm pretty sure she thinks stashing her money in an old Folgers can is a good idea. But all it does is make my life easier. I know how her mind works. Mom never puts a lot of thought into anything—she simply reacts.

I often wonder if Mom actually does know. She has to be smarter than to think certain bathroom items just magically appear but just thinking about it scares me way more than my first day of school.

I would love to tell her that she's destroyed my life and to go straight to hell. But I can't. I have no doubt she would slap the shit out of me if I did. So I go off on her in my mind instead. I've done it countless times.

Every morning Mom goes through an entire pack of cigarettes and every morning she sneaks shots of her favorite cheap whiskey. I'm convinced she thinks she's good at hiding her drinking, but she's never been good at it. The simple truth is, my stealing is the only way we can survive in her whiskey-fueled waste of a life.

"Did you hear me, little missy?" she yells, her tone demonstrating another level of pissed off.

I hate when she calls me that. It means she's about to explode. The alcohol has kicked in and the mean drunk has arrived. She's definitely gearing up for a fight.

"Yes, I heard you! And I don't know where your money is!" I lie, shouting a little louder than I should.

I don't have time to regret my words because I hear footsteps pounding up the stairs. In a matter of seconds she's standing next to me, ready to pounce. I am her prey. I need to cool her down or risk sporting a red handprint across my face on the first day of school.

"I'm sorry, Mom. I guess I'm a little nervous," I answer in the most toned down voice I can muster.

She yanks my wrist hard, sending shooting pain up my arm, but I don't dare move away.

"You raise your voice at me like that again, it'll take braces to sort out the bloody mess."

Her eyes are huge, almost pulsating, her face only inches from mine. She stumbles a little, no doubt from the whiskey, and takes a step forward, reeking of cigarette smoke. She knows I can't stand the smell; I know she's waiting for my reaction. If I show my utter disgust, it'll be the worst decision I make today. So I don't do anything. I know she can feel my revulsion and I'm pretty sure she knows I hate damn near everything about her.