Expectationally Rebellious

Chapter 3

As I repeated the exact same process I do everyday for school, I glimpsed a sight of myself in the mirror; sunken eyes which showed no emotion, except pure agony. I tried to leave the house as quickly as possible, as I knew my parents were awake and ready to strike at any possible moment. 

My mood did not improve at school, in fact, it only got worse. Sure, Mary made me feel better, but my parents expected me to befriend types of people like Tiffany and her friends. As if on cue, I heard her open her plump lips to speak:

"Gracieee," The voice made me cringe internally every time I heard it: "How's your day?" Tiffany emphasised, as if she was speaking to a 5-year old, not a care in the world for how my day was going.

"Fine," I spoke, through gritted teeth. Mary dragged me away before I could do anything to harm Tiffany.

"Just ignore her," she reassured. 

"Yesterday, my f***ing dad broke my phone with his bare hands," I fumed, whilst instinctively balling my wrists, resulting in my knuckles turning snow-white.

"What an idiot," she agreed. "Yesterday, my uncle smashed a beer bottle and cut my arm open," she began, before pulling up her sleeve, revealing a dark, bulging cut, which left me in shock.  

"Why are adults so mean?"

"No, they're not. My grandmother was one of the nicest people I knew, before she died. It's not that adults are mean, it's just that we're stuck with the f***ing cruel ones." Maryanne was one of the prettiest girls I knew, and if it had to be anyone, it definitely should not have been her to end up with some horrible caretakers like she has now.

"C'mon, let's go, we'll be late," Mary stated, before scurrying off to class. 

Surprisingly, yet unfortunately, the day ran by extremely fast. My thoughts consisted of only one thing; a getaway plan to escape my loathsome parents, however, I decided not to share it with anyone just yet. I elected to walk home with Mary, and she agreed. Her cinnamon eyes caught the light in a way of which made me smile, as well as make butterflies fly in my stomach.

"What are you smiling at?" Maryanne insinuated, in advance to mimicking my action. 

"Oh, nothing," I giggled. In response, she gave me a look that said 'I know exactly what you're thinking about.' We continued to laugh on our way to my house, but soon the moment vanished as we arrived home.

"Hello Grace, Maryanne," my father pronounced her name carefully, a strong tone of disapproval noticeable in his abrasive voice. 

"Hi dad," I responded, before asking if Mary could stay for a while.

"Hmm," my dad thought, quickly thinking of an excuse to decline my offer, "No, you've got homework," he stated, before shooing Mary away like she was merely a disease-carrying pest.

"No I don't!" I asserted, tightly crossing my arms. 

"Well then you've got chores," my dad demanded with a smug look upon his grotesque and shrivelled facade, paired with a crooked back of which was caused by years upon years of hunching over. I stuttered in disagreement, until finally apologising to Mary and making my way inside. 

"Hi sweetie," my mum drawled as I walked through the kitchen as I made my way towards my bedroom.

"Hi," I plainly stated, as I closed the door to my room. 

"Gracie!" I heard my dad bellow, sending a fearful shiver down my spine.

"Y-yes?" I replied, ready to defend myself of whatever he brought upon me this time. 

"Come and do some chores!" I sprinted out of my room to complete any task that my dad assigned, not risking to lose anything else. My dad signalled towards the staggering pile of dishes in the sink, begging for somebody to clean them. My mother remained on the couch, attempting to make conversation as I did the job.

"How did you sleep last night?" She questioned.

"I heard weird noises in my room again," I brought up.

"Well, it's only because you watch those silly horror movies," she replied. I used all of my might to brush off the monstrous offence that was placed in my ears. 

"So, how was school? Did you talk to Tiffany?!" I rolled my eyes and sighed at my mums desperate comment.

"Well, you clearly can't hang out with that Mary girl, she's much too of a bad influence," my mother professed. I whipped my body to face her, and glared straight into her eyes, before saying;

"How?! Give me at least three reasons why! Three!" 

"Well, she's into horror, mind you, not a good habit," she began, ticking the air as if she had an invisible checklist of 'How to be a b****.' "Second of all, she's into that evil kind of rock music, as well as she wears dark clothes all the time, and she's just so.." My mum faltered as she tried to think of the right word, and I simply stood there, not being able to believe what had just passed through my ears. My mother had just insulted my best friend and everything that I love. She wasn't going to get away with this; I would get my revenge, someday.

I stormed off to my room, leaving my mother in a state of confusion. 

How could they be like this? How was it physically possible for human beings to act like this?! I paced across my room, heart hammering against my rib cage as if it would jump right out. I instinctively grabbed my guitar and pick, the strings instantaneously drowning me in a wave of calmness. I slammed my door closed, before continuing to jam out, my voice becoming hoarse from singing too much. Water streamed down my face; an interesting mix of salty, sullen tears as well as warm sweat. 

My raucous scream pierced my dads ears as he burst through the door, automatically blocking his ears. 

"What the f*** is going on?" My father thundered, before stopping and reconsidering his actions in a suspicious way. He then forced an terrifying yet dubious 'sweet' smile. 

"What is going on here, sweetie? Why can I hear that disgusting music?" He beamed again, and I began to back away, panic-stricken at the drastically sudden change in my dads mood. I stammered in attempt to respond.

"Give me the guitar, sweetie," he pleaded. 

"N-no," I croaked, tightening my grip on my guitar. I was frozen to the spot as my father walked over, ripping the guitar out of my now red hands. He smiled yet again as he walked out of the room, guitar in his hands. More tears spilled from my tear-ducts as I gripped the tiny, string-playing pic of which Mary had given me. The small thing held so many memories and I could burst into tears simply by looking at it. I pulled and held it to my chest as the world around me dissolved.