The Tutor | 2016 ✓

3

||Warming: this chapter may trigger some readers. If you don't like anything about blood, do not continue <3 it's nothing bad, though, this is just a warning||

Chapter 3

I glide across the freshly-mopped floor like a hockey player on ice. My rainbow fuzzy socks allow me to slide over the wooden flooring and around the leather couches that take up most of my living room's space. There wasn't a round of sliding when I didn't fall, probably leaving yet another bruise on my hip, but I got up and kept going. Not because I was strong and refused to give up but it was because I was bored out of my mind and had nothing else to to except for childishly pretend to be ice skating in my fuzzy socks. Yeah, I know, I'm so mature.

Pasta was boiling on the stove while the dishwasher was running. I finished my homework with Ryland a few hours ago and my room is spotless. I'm just waiting for something to happen. That one speck of dust to fall on the coffee table so I could clean it, the pasta to be finished so I can wrap up dinner, maybe even a vase to fall so I can clean up the shattered glass. It was times like this that I beg for something to do. Others, though, all of this would be available to do and I'd wish they'd all go away.

I considered going for a walk but pasta is boiling on the stove and I'd rather not burn down my house.

Another reason, though, is that my parents are on their way home from a business trip and my brother, Everest, is on his way home for the week from college. He's a sophomore at the university north of the state but it's only on a rare occasion he comes home nor does he even decide to call me. Being a senior in high school and two year younger than my brother, I've given up on trying to get his attention; my parents' as well.

This is why I've made pasta, waiting extremely impatiently for them to come home just to leave again. Just for them to pay no attention to me, use me for whatever they want because they know I'll do it and expect me to be okay with it- which, I always am. Why? Because I want nothing more then someone's love. That's all I ask for is, just once, I'll be waiting at the kitchen table with ready for them to be there and they'll actually care about my day. That one day my parents will care about my grades and that one visit my brother will want to know how his little sister is.

I slay myself over to the kitchen and stir the pasta in the pot one last time before shutting off the stove and draining the water away from the pasta. I open a jar of Alfredo sauce, pour the sauce in then toss the items together. Using the wooden spoon I had to stir, I scoop up four plates of pasta and place them on the table.

I glance over at the clock on the microwave, seeing I have 5 minutes until they said they'd show up. So, I sit myself at the table and wait. I just wait... and wait... and wait... and wait. I just wait until I'm tired of waiting.

Anger boils in my blood along with embarrassment. They didn't fucking show up, but I actually believed that they would. I actually believed my mother, father and older brother would come see me. I'm such an idiot.

Over and over and over again, I mentally slap myself. Fucking. Little. Stupid. Idiot!

My hand, balled into a fist, flies through the air and into the wall. Soon, the deep burgundy that once covered the wall was now white. An uneven circle carves into the wall while my hand just sits there. It's only after a few seconds the pain from the punch struck me. I fight back my tears, the salty water blurring up my vision. The physical and mental pain like lightning struck me hard and soon, it was hard to fight back the tears bombarding my eyes.

I whimper to myself, hating the sound I've started to make, allowing the tears to just fall, smashing against the wooden floors.

Then, suddenly, there's a knock at the door. My hopes rise higher than skyscrapers. I promptly pull my hand out of the hole, covering it with a family portrait, and dust myself off. My hoodie is covered in white dust, like snow, from the wall while my leggings were totally clean, the ends of them hidden under my high-top converse.