Silence.
The one thing I beg for, the one thing I desire. Silence is peace, silence is happiness, silence is the one comfort I have that assures me everything is just fine.
Sorry.
Would be.
My brain screams at me every second of everyday, no silence.
My friend squabble back and forth every single day, no silence.
But there's one sound that seems as if my eardrums are being pierced a thousand times over by sharp, hot needles.
"Scarlette, get up. It's time for school."
My mother's voice sounds from her mouth to my ears as she enters my bedroom swiftly, but oh so loudly at the same time. She walks across my room and goes through my closet, picking and prodding, searching for something for me to wear to school. I silently and sarcastically thank my mother, as if I don't know how to pick out my own clothes.
"No. I don't feel good."
I hear her scoff and mutter under her breath that this is typical of me, which isn't exactly untrue. I do stay home from school a lot, not because I don't like school, but because home, alone in my bed, is the only place where I don't feel like pulling my hair out. Plus, mom works all day so that's a bonus.
"Bullshit, Scarlett. I'm tired of this moping you've been doing. It's lazy and extremely disappointing. Get up. Breakfast will be ready in half an hour. But honestly, you might want to skip. You've put on a few pounds." She says as she walks out, slamming the door behind her.
"No mom, I don't need to stay home from school today, thanks for asking."
I should be crying right now. I mean, my mother just called me a lazy fat ass, but she's called me worse. It's times like this that make me miss dad the most, make me miss his smile, and the way his cologne smells like a sweet camp fire. It's words like "skip breakfast" that make me miss our weekly dinners that much more, and the way he always ends the night by telling me I'm perfect just the way I am. I miss my dad, but there's nothing I can do but wait, wait for my one parent while I live in a house with an imposter of one.
My mother has never been the mom to teach me how to ride a bike or help me home if I sprain my ankle. She's never been the mom to leave notes in my lunch box telling me how much she loves me and wishing me a good day. Rather, if she left a note in my lunchbox, it told me that I needed to lose weight so she packed carrots instead of chips. Fun, right? She makes it so hard to love her and so easy to hate her. But I do love her, which makes it so easy to hate myself.
Looking at the green dress my mom picked out begins to make my stomach churn, literally, so I throw the it in my laundry basket and put on white jeans with my black cropped tank. I throw my curly, auburn hair up in a messy bun and slap a couple of layers of mascara on my lashes, finishing with a layer of lip gloss, which I place in my backpack for reapplication later. I grab my keys from my dresser and make my ways down stairs.
I don't know what I expected when I went downstairs. Definitely not the smell of chocolate chip pancakes or to hear my mom singing like she used to, neither of which I experienced. But what I expected least was to see my father walking through the door and hanging his hat on the coat rack.
"There's my beautiful red-haired princess."
I stand there paralyzed for a second, wondering how the hell, why the hell my dad was home right now. Wondering how he got out, why he got out, but most importantly, worrying when he goes back. I watch him as he stretches his arms out towards me, and my brain screams at me to run to him, to hug him, to kiss him, to let him rock me and swallow me with his arms. But I can't, and it's almost as if my body needs more.
"Mija?" He says, his smile falling slightly as his eyebrows furrow in confusion.
I'm still standing there, feeling tears sliding down my cheeks, my body refusing to wipe them away. Slowly, he begins to walk towards me, and it's then when my body begins to listen to my brain and runs to him. I didn't ask questions, I didn't say a word, I just let him hold me. I let him hold me, because I didn't know when the next opportunity would come.
My dad's in the military. He comes and goes. Me and my mom stay here because dad doesn't want us to have to change our lives so much. In reality, though, my parents can't stand each other, not anymore. I guess at one point the pretty red head and tall Spanish man were in love, but I don't remember it. Plus, my mom is a big time lawyer here in the city. Divorce attorney. How ironic.
It's been almost a year since I've seen him. He's been stationed in Germany. We don't know why. All I know is that I was about to start my junior year of high school and he got deployed. He left right after my sixteenth birthday party. Best present ever.
"I missed you, mi amor ." He kisses my head again before letting go and wiping my cheeks. I laugh and he gives me his famous blinding smile.
"Look at you, ruining your makeup. Go upstairs and fix it, Scarlett." My mother interrupts, rolling her eyes in the process.
My father glares at her, and pushes me behind him.
"You don't talk to my daughter like that."
I can feel the tension in the air, not even the strongest of blades could slice through it. He always gets angry when mom is like this with me.
"She is beautiful. She is perfect the way she is and I will not have you telling her otherwise. She is a human with feelings, treat her like it."
"Whatever, Malcom. Go ahead, baby her like you always do. Scarlett, go fix it," she says as I stand there, "Now."
"Honey, you don't have to if you don't want to, Come on, eat with me." He pulls out a seat for me at the table.
"No, she's trying to lose weight, aren't you Scar?" She says looking at me expecting an answer.
Her answer.
"What, so she can be skinnier than she is. I mean seriously Grace, do you feed my child or starve her?" He stands up and walks over to me. "Come on, Mija, let's eat."
I look between her and my father and shake my head, expecting absolutely nothing more.
"Seriously? Dad has been home for I don't know, five minutes, and you're already fighting? Screw this." I grab my bag off the floor and walk out the door, leaving my mother and father to fight and fight some more.
When I get to school, I sit in my car and observe all the girls squealing and hugging their friends as if they didn't have a sleep over with them two days ago, and of course all of the guys fawning over the girls. Gross, but typical. It's the first day of Senior year and the only thing I'm thinking of is how I want it to be the last. My mothers words play over and over again in my head, telling me to fix my makeup. So I do. I reach over in my bag and grab my spare, putting a couple more layers on my lashes. I put more lip gloss on, too. Might as well kill two birds with one stone.
I look at myself in the mirror and stare. I've always been naturally beautiful. I have my mom's red hair and my dads curls. My dads bright green eyes and my mom's full lips. Everywhere I go I get a compliment. Not that I want to, but I do. My dad shows me off while my mom makes side remarks, going out of her way to tell everyone how I could be prettier. I ignore them both, it ends up turning into an argument every single time anyways.
I slam my mirror shut and get out of my car.
After getting my bag out of the passenger seat, I turn around to go in when I'm ambushed by my two closest friends, Becca and Maggie.
"Hey bitch! Oh my gosh! Where have you been? I snapped you, what? Three times this morning? I was having a wardrobe crisis." Becca cries.
"Oh shut up. You look good in everything, Bec. You could wear a hat with pizza on it and still have every guy falling at your feet." Maggie says, boosting Becca's ego even higher than it already was.
"Speaking of wardrobes, you look H-O-T, hot Scar. Way to start the year." Maggie says, basically drooling.
"Thanks." I say, heading for the door.
They don't question me as they scurry to catch up. Instead, they keep their mouths shut until they see someone worth degrading. We walk into school and there are people everywhere. I hear my friends next to me, talking about all of the new guys they'd like to screw and the girls they'd like to laugh at. We're walking to my locker, like we always do, when I make eye contact with someone. Someone I've never seen before so I'm guessing he's new.
He looks at me and smiles, something no one ever does. The typical person looks at me and looks away within the same second, but not him. No, he looks at me for a while and just smiles. He's tall and tan. His eyes are dark and he has the longest eyelashes I've ever seen. He's wearing a simple t-shirt and jeans, cute. He isn't my typical guy, but I don't know. This is different.
"Ew, farm boy checking you out, 12 o'clock Scar." Becca says with a smirk on her face.
"Awe, would you look at that. I don't know Bec, he's sort of cute. In a totally, yeehaw type of way." Maggie adds and they both laugh a little too loud, drawing attention to us. He looks back over at me and smiles again. I close my locker and turn to the girls.
"Let him stare." I say as both their eyes get a little too wide for my liking.
"It's kind of hard not to, don't you think?" I hear a deep voice with a thick accent behind me and turn around to face him "I mean, my momma taught me not to stare, but when I saw you, all that flew out the window." He says with a smile. I just stare at him as he puts his hand out for me to shake.
"The names Lincoln."
"You can stare all you want, love. But touching, you cannot do," I say looking at his hand. I hold my hand up and wiggle my fingers. "Manicures and Manure don't mix well. You understand, right Farm Boy?"
I return his favor and smile at him. Not my real smile, not my "Oh. I'm just kidding smile". It's my "I'm the wicked bitch of this school, talk to me and I'll blow your head off" smile. The one I've been using since the seventh grade. His smile, however, never falls. He reaches over and grabs my hand, putting it in his.
"Well, a little manure never hurt anyone, now did it?" He shakes my hand before dropping it, turning around, and walking away.
I stare at his back as he walks away, surprised at his reaction. I don't know how to feel. Annoyed that he stood up to me. Angry that he embarrassed me in front of my friends. Or flattered that he was the first guy who didn't approach me with "Hey, wanna hook up?". But, before I even had time to think about it I'm attacked by my 'friends'.
"Ew, as if. If I were you, I'd boil my hand ten thousand times." Maggie says.
"I'd cut mine off." Becca adds.
"Yeah," I look down at my hand "Cut it off."
I smile gently, hoping neither for them see.
I tug on my hand and look bag up, only to find farm boy gone, and all of my thoughts gone with him.