Chapter 8

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Chapter 8

I jumped when I woke up. Same old bedroom; same old life. It really wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare. A horrible nightmare. It highlighted everything bad in my life; and made it worse. Only in my nightmare Michael disappeared. Does that mean he will in real life too?  Was it really a premonition?

The rays of sun shined through my window. I covered my eyes and got up. I walked to my dresser and grabbed the first things I could find. As I was leaving my bedroom to go to the bathroom my sister found me.

“Mom says you have to make breakfast. She also said that you can shower after you make breakfast and eat.” I hate my mom.

“Okay,” I said with a somber tone.

I threw my things back in my room and walked to the kitchen. The smell of cigarettes emanated f romeverywhere. An ashtray was on the table and my mom was sitting there glaring at the door. I walked to the fridge and shuffled through what little we had.

“I want eggs and pancakes,” my mom grumbled.

I grabbed the ingredients out of the fridge and set them on the counter. I got the pancake mix from the cabinet and started to get things ready. As breakfast cooked the kitchen smelled better. It could only make it smell a little better. It didn’t completely cover the hideous odor.

My mom sat in her chair at the table. For being a forty-year-old smoker she looks pretty good. She doesn’t have any wrinkles and she dyes her hair to cover the grays. Her teeth are slightly yellow. She wears nail polish to cover her nails. My mom’s health isn’t the best but you couldn’t tell that from looking at her. Guys are constantly coming home with her; she’s a cradle robber too. Guys my age have come over for my mom.

I slapped some food on a plate and handed it my mom. She smirked at me and started to take a bite. She stopped midway and looked at me expectantly. “What no syrup; butter maybe?”

I sighed and walked back to the fridge. We were out of butter and there wasn’t much syrup left. I grabbed what little syrup we had left and dropped it on the table in front of her. She didn’t look very happy. You’re the piece of work mom that buys cigarettes instead of food.

“Is this all?”

“Yeah.”

“Go get more.”

“I’m grounded, remember?” I sneered.

She knocked her chair over as she got up. She grabbed my arm and slapped me across the face. There will definitely be a bruise on my arm later. “I said you were to stay in your room unless told otherwise. Now go take a shower. After you’re going shopping.”

I shuffled down the hall to my room. I picked up my clothes again and then walked to the bathroom. I turned the water on, making sure it wasn’t very hot. We have limited water; mess things up again and I’m sure to get another slap.

I stepped in and felt the cool water run down my back. It felt nice and refreshing. I washed my hair out and then my body. My mom’s back to her same old self. Back to the hitting and abuse. Now I have to go shopping for her. She’ll probably make me get her more cigarettes; then when the clerk won’t let me buy any my mom will beat me again. Why must she be so mean? I remember how nice she was before my dad died.

Before my dad died my mom was nice. My mom was always there for her kids. My dad loved us all too. I have to say that I think he loved me a little more. I didn’t have a twin, or any sisters that loved me. My sisters were always bitter; they still are. They use to make me cry and my mom would console me. Now she sides with them. Everything I do is wrong. Ever since dad died.

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