The Summer I Met You. (JB//Paused)

Chapter 01

Once I'd made it past the attic, I ran all the way to my room at the end of the hallway and locked the door behind me.

"You better be doing your homework up there!" Lucas shouted from below. Homework? Yeah, right.

"Yes, I'm working on it!" I yelled back.

I fall back on my bed and bury my face in the pillows. Everyone was always looking at me like I was some sort of disgusting disappointment. Once dad left, mom stopped caring. She was supposed to love me but instead, she reminded me of being in a dentist chair, or not being able to find something, or early mornings and crowded public transportation. I've been pushing people out since the third grade but they should consider themselves lucky for not getting the chance to know me. Everything about me was flawed.

I hated the way I talked to myself and I hated the way I wrote. My entire being was so ugly and disfigured that sometimes, I couldn't bear to live with myself anymore. I'd think about self harming but I'd never do it. No, I'd never do a thing like that. It got me thinking, sometimes, the reasons to slide a blade across your skin. But I'd never hurt myself intentionally. I hated the nauseating thought of blood oozing out from my own body. Just thinking about it made me shiver.

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        Nightfall came quickly and my homework had been untouched. I was thankful it was a Friday. Hearing nothing but silence, I unlocked my door and walked downstairs. Lucas had definitely taken mom out to the nightclub again. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast so I grabbed a box of Ritz crackers before going back upstairs.

Being home alone for the thousandth time was so boring. I stuffed a couple of crackers in my mouth and began packing various cans of spray paint in my worn out backpack. Then, I changed into something more suitable for the dark and strapped a pair of boots onto my feet. I grabbed a couple of pillows and organized them under my comforter in case mom came home early and sober. I doubted it.

Once I'd made it outside, I pulled my hood up and grabbed my skateboard. I knew exactly where I was going. Veniccia's had always been my favorite restaurant to go to as a little girl. At least I thought it was. My dad would take me there after his work shifts to eat their finest cannoli's. The cream was always just right; not too sweet, not too sour. The owner would sing and play his guitar while we ate and everything was just... perfect.

It has been many years since I'd last tried their delicacies. In fact, I couldn't imagine the tastes anymore. I could smell the dust in the cold breeze as it welcomed me and blew the hood off of my head. Impatiently, I tucked my hair behind my ears and out of my face. Thereupon, I looked around at my familiar surroundings. This small area, which was once a place for kicks, had turned into a neglected, dying place. Now rich with junk cars, old stores, abandoned benches, torn wooden fences... Everything was just dark, old and unkempt. I walked over to the abandoned Italian restaurant and observed it's walls. They were all marked, spray painted with all sorts of writing, distorted faces, big and small letters in all styles, shapes and colors; whichever suited the vandals' tastes and moods.

It saddened me for I knew so well. This place had seen better days and I'd been fortunate enough to admire it full of life, in all it's glory and during my childhood years.

I leaned against the wall and tried to imagine it still here but I just... couldn't. My heart and my mind had marked walls too, wrapped in deception, wounded by betrayal trust and scarred by past experiences.

And yet, here I was, standing on my two feet in front of this dying place in the late hours of the night. I shivered once before removing my backpack and taking out a spray can. Then, in slow, sharp movements, I pressed down and began to paint. I didn't know what I was painting, really. But I was sure it'd come out nicely just like the others. I continued to paint until I figured out what it was I was painting; a little girl, drowning away in a pit of memories which seemed to be escaping down the drain. Well, not literally.