Suffering Sunflowers

Chapter One: Visitor

   In bed, I lie.
      Staring aimlessly up at my old painted ceiling. The mural I once painted almost two years ago looms above. My eyes tracing the new cracks it has gained. The weather surely hasn't helped.
     My body is numb. I feel nothing again. My covered ears drowning out the world. I feel I always wake up feeling like this. Most days harder than others.
     Turning my head, I see my alarm clock. Blaring. Calling for me to rise and live out my daily tasks. I stare at the bright red numbers.
   "6:45 AM"
   I feel nothing.
   "7:08 AM"
   Soon, I slowly rise. Sitting up on the edge of my uncomfortable little bed. Rubbing my eyes, the sound slowly sinks in. My alarm now screeching as if someone crashed a car into my room. I flick the switch and quickly the wailing stops. Surprisingly, Father hasn't come banging on my door from the amount of noise. Taking a look out the window, it's another cold day. Rainy season still. How dreary.
  I slide off my bed, my socked feet gently landing on the creaky wooden floorboards. A shiver runs from my toes and races up my spine, sending a sudden twitch through my core.
   Leaning over my small side table, I pull my windows closed. Blocking off my only view of the cold world. I latch my windows shut, only a small sliver of sunlight pitifully pulls itself through the thinner layers of paint on the glass panes.
  My breath still lingers in the air.
The wood creaks beneath my feet with every step. I've grown used to this sound. Comforting almost. I open up my closet door and pull out my old but warm soft beige sweater. I pull the knitted wool over my head, hiding my t-shirt underneath. The fibers tickle the hairs on my arms as I poke my fingers out from the blue and green stained cuffs. I also retie the drawstrings of my gray sweatpants that must've untied during my restless tossing and turning the during the night.
Letting out a stretch and a yawn, I turn on my heels to head to my door.
Before even making it, I pass by my mirror.
The full length mirror meant to have been hung up on the wall that lives its days sitting on the floor, propped up against the wall; unfortunately sitting exactly at my height. 59 inches. Why was I cloned so oddly?
Catching a glimpse of myself like always, for whatever reason today I decided to stand and take a look at myself.
There I am. I look over my body starting down at the bottom. My feet covered in mismatch wool socks, socks pulled up under my gray sweatpants. Knees dyed a mix of dull pigments. Of course they're just a size too big, not big enough to fall off without tying but certainly baggy enough to easily slide up my legs. I slip my girl-ish hands into the pockets of my pants. No wonder no one really takes me seriously. The dull colored cuffs of my sweater hanging out. The collar creeping up my thin pale neck, my Adam's apple awkwardly popping out, almost as if it doesn't even belong there.
Of course, the part I dread.
My eyes creep up my face. God I'm a mess. A permanent frown. Sunken in cheeks. Heavy bags. Acne all over. Freckles splashed across my cheeks. Unshaven. I try to smile slightly only to expose my goofy braces, forcing me to quickly shut my mouth. To top it off, my messy unbrushed hair all over my head with only the bandages just slightly keeping some in place. Why can't I take care of myself better? Why do I live like this? I hate myself. So why do I do this? I never have any motivation to put myself together.
I leave the mirror, the sight of even my own body make me sick.
Unlocking the door chain, my door creaks open.
More cold air rushes over me, sending more shivers down my spine. They never turn the heat on. I shove my hands deeper in my pockets, slightly hunching as I walk. My posture's never been the greatest.
My hand slides down the cool wooden staircase railing. Making small quiet creaks as I gently step down each stair.
Looking over out into the living room. Mm. Father's not home.
No wonder why he didn't come pounding at my door.
Hopping off, skipping the last stair. I put my hand back into my pocket. I make my way over to the thermostat by the front door, turning the heat up. Hopefully it'll warm up quickly.
Venturing into the kitchen, the lights are off. I flick the switch to a clean empty kitchen.
Stepmom's also gone.
There's a note taped to the oven hood. I reach out and delicately pull the tape holding the paper in place away from the cold metal.
"Going out. Be back later. Heater's broken. -Dad"
Just my luck.
Sigh. I crumple the piece of notebook paper and chuck it over into the trash can. Breakfast is on me today. Again.
I'm not really hungry. It seems I'm never too hungry. Still numb. I can't go without a cup of coffee.
I brew up a pot. I'll probably go through the whole thing before 10 AM anyways. Of course I can't just drink coffee, I'll get the shakes. I pull out the toaster and a couple slices of bread.
It's quiet. I like it like this.
I accidentally start to zone out, leaning against the counter. I love having spaces just to myself. No sudden loud noises or interruptions. As it should be.
I'm brought back to my senses. More given a quick startle by the feeling of something soft brushing up against my legs and sitting on my foot. I jump back, accidentally scaring him in the process.
I chuckle to myself, leaning down to give him his morning head pats and to apologize for scaring him.
"Morning Ivory.."
He meows back to me. His shining blue and yellow eyes glowing from his silky black fur.
I lean back on the counter as he sits beneath me. Thank god he isn't home. How dumb of me to leave my door open. I can't bare to let him find out I've been hiding a cat under his roof.
My toast finally pops up and there's just enough coffee to fill up a cup.
Opening up the fridge, the small light blinks on to show we haven't gone grocery shopping for quite some time. Only very little milk, couple slices of packaged deli meats that have probably spoiled by now, few vegetables that are already starting to brown. I can't remember the last time we even had any sort of meal together. They're always out for dinner and leave me behind to feed myself. I'll probably have to steal some of Father's cash and sneak out to buy my own groceries later.
Whatever. I'm not going to think about that now. I just need to eat. I pull out a small jar of strawberry jam.
I spread a bit of jam on the slices of toasted bread. This is fine. This is enough.
Finishing up, I lick the residue of strawberry off my fingertips. I can finally pour myself a hot cup of coffee.
I wash my mug out in the sink and pour a nice hot cup with only two sugars.
I take a sip.
Finally. Whole again.
It's still cold. I look over at the clock on the stove.
"7:42 AM"
Bus comes at 8 AM. Fuck it, why even go anyways?
I take another sip. Holding my mug in one hand, I lean down and lift up Ivory with the other. He softly meows when my fingers touch his fur. He rests his body nestled in my arm with paws on my shoulder.
We leave the kitchen and head down to the basement. It's even colder down there. With each step down the stairs, the air gets crisper and crisper. My body beginning to shiver now. Ivory tries to snuggle closer for warmth.
Stepping down onto the freezing cold floor, icicles sting my toes with every step.
Placing my mug down on top the washer, I dig through the pile of blankets that have accumulated in the corner. I pull out a thick comforter from deep within.
Perfect.
I set Ivory down on the pile, he meows to be picked back up and off the mess of chilly fabric. I lean down and plant a sweet kiss on the top of his head.
"One second, I promise."
I completely pull out the large comforter and shove it into the dryer to heat it up.
Shutting the door and turning the knob. Now we wait for our only warmth.
I pick my mug back up and take another sip. Each sip feels so much better when you're freezing cold. Like a warm hug from a caring mother.
If only.
I kneel down and let my body lay in the pile of blankets. Ivory climbing onto me and curling up on my chest. He purrs softly.
   I sip again.
  Still numb. But in a way.
    More grounded.

      My eyes quickly snapped open to the sound of the dryer's alarm. It's done.
   It's been that long already? I must've fallen asleep by accident. My sweet kitten is also fast asleep curled up under my arm.
     I plant another kiss on top his head.
  I sit up. My mug conveniently safe on the floor, still standing. Of course now its contents are ice cold.
   Crawling over and opening up the door of the dryer, I'm finally hit with a soothing wave of heat.
  Sitting in front of the open door feels as if I've just died and gone to heaven.
   My cold frozen fingers delicately grip onto the burning hot bedding.
   Quickly pulling the plush bed sheet out, I wrapped it around my body.
   I've never felt like this before. Is this what it's like to be held? Embraced? Cared for? I close my eyes and wrap myself tighter. I sat for what felt like centuries. I stopped shivering. I felt peaceful. Is this happiness? I felt the familiar feeling of tears streaming down my cheeks. Oh god I'm crying. Why am I crying? I shoved my face into the warm plush material. More tears flowing from my eyes.
     My happiness was quickly broken. I heard a floorboard above me let out a creak. They're home already? I quickly gathered myself and wiped my face as best I could. Scooping up Ivory and my mug. I tried to hide him under the cover.
   Up the stairs I went. Closing the basement door behind me. I look around.
    "Hello..?"
  No response. Must've just been the floorboards settling. I knew it was too early for them to be back.
    I'm already up here so, might as refill my cup. I pour myself a fresh cup. Glancing at my reflection in the glass of the back door. God I always look like shit when I cry. Wiping my face again as best as I can.
      Ah, a fresh sip.
   I go back up to my room, locking the door behind me. I place Ivory down on the wooden paint smeared floor. He meows back at me. Of course I pour him a bowl of his breakfast before flopping down onto my bed. I take a deep breath. I'm a mess. Crying from a blanket.
   I'm so messed up.

      "8:16 PM"
  God. I'm crying again. Why am I always crying? I'm always so frustrated. And confused. I can't stand it here. I can't stand it here.
  My eyes filled with tears, I pick at the dried paint beneath my fingernails.
   Why am I so frustrated? What's wrong with me? Just calm down.
    More tears stream down my searing cheeks.
   In a fit of confusion and rage, I let out all my anger with a full punch to the wall beside me.
  The sudden jerk and loud crack of my knuckles against the plaster wall woke Ivory from his nap. I didn't mean to scare him. I left more kisses on his head as I apologized profusely. I ran my throbbing hand down his silky fur. He purred quietly. This is better. At least he can make me feel better.
   This short moment of bliss was broken by my Father screaming my name from downstairs.
    "Shit."
   Hopping off my bed and wiping my face as best I can, I left my room; making sure to close the door behind me this time. I shove my hands in my pockets. Down the stairs I went; stopping halfway.
    There he is. That fat asshole. A reject of a man. Only ever sitting in that damn recliner. Watching that damn TV all day. What kind of Father even are you?
  My silent death wishes cut off by a knock at the door. He looks over at me.
    "The door."
   His deep voice bellows from across the room from that stupid chair. Why can't you just get it?
   Down the rest of the stairs I go.
  Pulling the small wooden step stool over, I climb up and take a peek out the peephole.
    That can't be.
  I hop down, kicking the stool aside. I open the door and there he stands.

                      John Fucking Kennedy.