Chapter: 3

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"Let me get this straight. You decided to punch a guy in the face because he slapped your ass?" My dad asks while rubbing his temples warily. "He also hit Clara's ass." "Is that so?" I nod my head. "I think that it wasn't the best option, but it certainly wasn't the wrong option." My mom says folding her arms. "Punching someone should never be an option." My dad hisses.

"Aphy tells me every day how the guys are constantly harassing her and her friends," My mom says defensively. "That doesn't mean she should break someone's nose!" He screams slamming his hands on his desk. My mom flinches at his explosion. His face is all red and you can see a vein throbbing on his forehead. I haven't seen my dad this mad since Jeremy got pulled over for drunk driving.

"So you think that it's completely fine for our daughter to be assaulted on a daily basis." My mother is staring daggers at my father who doesn't seem affected by her words at all. "I simply think she shouldn't be a savage about it and instead tell an adult." I look up hurt that he's blaming me for everything.

"You think I haven't? I have complained to the principal, the vice-principal, even the lunch ladies. They haven't done jack shit and I'm sick of guys walking all over us because they know that they'll get away with it. You are only proving my point by sweeping their harassment under the carpet and blaming this all on me. I wouldn't have broken that asshole's nose if he didn't assault me after I told him to stop assaulting girls!" I say with an uneasily quiet tone.

I stand up to leave his office sick of this conversation. "I didn't say you could leave. I will not condone any child of mine to resort to violence." I chuckle darkly. "But you're ecstatic when I'm getting my butt slapped and keep quiet about it, you deserve the father of the year award." I narrow my eyes and give a tiny grin as I walk out the door slamming it on my way out.

I wrap a blanket around myself, sliding down the light grey walls, letting my tears free. Every time I finish crying a new wave of sorrow would crash down on me. I sob for hours holding my knees to my chest trying to comfort myself. I can hardly breathe knowing my dad thinks it's my fault. I'm starting to drown in my own sadness.

Looking around my room blankly, I realize I'm unable to find any happiness in the blank walls. My mother had decorated my room when we had moved here a few years before. My queen-sized bed is in the middle of the room with a pink canopy hanging above it with a blush duvet cover with matching pillows. On either side of the bed are matching white nightstands, the one on the right holding a lamp and my glasses, and on the left my books and laptop.

I have a dresser matching the nightstands on the opposite side of the bed, holding stuffed animals and dolls from my childhood. On the left of the dresser is the door to my bathroom and walk-in closet. The bathroom might be my favorite part. It has a floating sink next to the toilet which has a blue lid. The shower is a huge walk-in, and the bath is a white stand-alone, which I adore.

I've decided that I needed to make my room feel more me, perhaps shopping would calm my nerves. I texted Clara to meet me at the nearest home and bedding store as I walked out the door and backed out of the driveway.

We spent a full three hours looking for new bedding and different posters. We grabbed multiple throw blankets and probably too many pillows. We grabbed paint and brushes along with some new lamps and a bunch of plants. We ended up going to a thrift store and found some amazing decorations.

We went back up to my room and had to take several trips taking all my old furniture downstairs. We eventually laid down tarps to start painting the walls. Blasting music we went to town with the turquoise paint. We aren't very patient so we started putting my room back together. We took my bed off its frame and put just the mattress on the ground. I strung some Christmas lights across the ceiling while Clara dismantled the bed frame.

We hung posters and different pictures we got from magazines on the walls. On the brown vanity, we found at the thrift store we put a record player and some old perfumes. We also hung up an orange rotary phone next to the small tube tv we had found. We placed different ferns, trees, and succulents around the room. At last, we laid on my bed and wrapped ourselves in the different quilts and blankets and watched the crackly tv.

It finally felt like my room. Clara soon fell asleep and I watched her thick lashes flutter as she dreamt. Her fiery red curls were framing her beautiful pale face. I focused on her small snore when she inhaled syncing my breathing with hers. Slowly I was lulled into my own deep sleep, left to my dreams.

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