Bound

Chapter One: Pilot

Jake

"We are going down I repeat we are going down!!"

Those words were imprinted inside of my mind, as they were the final words that my dad had spoken before he had passed as a soldier in the U.S. Air force. Today was the day my father had died.

I woke up that morning to the sound of quiet sobs echoing from my moms room. I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. Deciding to just go get food, I walk into the kitchen for some breakfast. Knowing what today was, I decided to take off school, not caring if I would miss a bunch of stuff.

I was at a point in my life where I could care less what happened to me. I suffer from extreme depression. I have medication. I don't take it.

When I do take my medicine, it only makes it worse.

I don't get more depressed, no. I don't feel anything. Not happiness, sadness, or anger. Just nothing. I don't feel sympathy or the need to be nice towards someone. I come out as rude and it makes people dislike me more than they already do. I hate it. The emptiness. At least when I'm not on the pills, I know I'm still alive.

However, this morning I walk over to the medicine cabinet and pull out the plastic container. I dump two in my hand, and stare at them for a second. Should I really take them?

No, I had to.

I drop them in my mouth and swallow them dry. It'll take a few minutes to kick in. I didn't want to cry when I got to his grave.

I decided to go check in on my mother. She was devastated when she heard my father had died. She spent most nights drinking the sadness away. We both had problems.

Walking upstairs, I tiptoe towards my moms room. I could still hear her sobbing. I opened the door, and the light from the hallway filtered in.

The room rank of alcohol. Bottles and cans littered the floor. I didn't see her at first, but I turned and saw her huddled in the closet. She was rocking back and forth, curled up in a ball. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees, and in one hand she held a bottle of vodka from which she took a sip from. Her long black hair was in knots, and she wore a dirty wrinkled dress. Big, fat tears rolled down her face and her near black eyes were glossed over. I sighed in annoyance, and walked over to help her up to get ready. When I stood in front of her, she looked at me and began to cry harder. She held up her arms as if asking for a hug. I crouched down and wrapped an arm around her waist and began to help her stand up. She got up, and almost fell down straight away. She wasn't usually this drunk, but today was a bad day for us.

I finally sat her on her bed and managed to get her into a long and flowey black dress. I wiped her eyes off and took the bottle of vodka away from her. She protested, but gave in as she was too wasted to do anything. Getting a trash bag from downstairs I picked up all the cans and bottles that were nearly concealing the plush carpet underneath. Finally, I got a brush and began to brush it through her long hair. It was near pitch black, and it contrasted her fair skin. When I was done, she looked almost nice. You could tell she was drunk, her eyes were red and the tears had left stains on her cheeks, but she looked better than before.

I helped her down the stairs, and we made our way to the car. She was stumbling and nearly tripping the entire way. When we finally got to the car I sat her in the passengers seat. There was no way she was driving. I buckled her in and went to the other side of the car. As I sat down she began crying again. Not sobbing, but silent tears ran down her face. I leaned over and opened the glove box, which contained a stack of napkins and tissues. Grabbing one, I wiped her face again and held it out to her so she could do it herself

We went to the flower shop first. Unlike many men, my father was very open about all topics. That included flowers. His favorite were Lilies, and he wasn't afraid to admit it. I left my mom in the car, there would be no use bringing her inside. Stepping in, the shopkeeper smiled at me. I walked past the rows and rows of flowers, and finally got to the counter.

"Two bouquets of White Lilies, please." I said, just loud enough for her to hear me. She smiled and went in the door behind the counter, leaving me to my own thoughts as most people do. She came back holding, you guessed it, the flowers. I thank her quietly and pull out my wallet. "How much?"

"Fourteen seventy eight." I pulled out the exact amount and walked back outside holding the two bouquets. I pulled open the car door and set them in my moms lap, knowing even in her drunken state she wouldn't dare hurt something as fragile as my fathers favorite flowers. She holds them gently and pats her face with the napkin, and I could tell she was sobering up just a little bit. I hit the gas and we drive towards the graveyard.

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After about ten minutes we're here. It's a small graveyard. We were offered the chance to bury him in one of the huge ones that hold soldiers such as him that died in the war, but we turned it down because we want to be able to visit.

That was around the time my mother started drinking.

We walked through the gates and turn right. I've memorized the route, that's how many times I've been here. Making sure my mother is with me, we walk. We walk and walk and walk, wandering a little bit before we finally get to the gravestone. I set my bouquet on the dirt, and my mother does the same. She's crying again, and I make a mental note to make sure to give her some water later so she isn't dehydrated. I let her cry. She completely pours out, crying until nothing is left for her to cry. I use my sleeve to wipe her face, before feeling a few tears of my own trickle down my cheeks.

So much for not crying.

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Thanks for reading! This story is a collaboration between me and Silverstripe220 . We hope you enjoyed the first chapter!

~ Silver Crow