(A/N: Actually, I lied. XD Let me rephrase from what I said from the prologue. If this whole story by far (including this chapter and the prologue) gets at least 10 votes, I'll continue and make another part to this story :D If not...I'll stop and I won't make it then. ^^; Otherwise, enjoy folks! <3 )
(June 8, XXXX)
(Reader's POV)
"Mom?" I shout as I open the door to my house. I just got home from a (favorite hobby/club) meeting. It was also the last day of school too, might I add.
No answer from mom, which is unusual. She usually always responds. But not in a happy tone.
"Why is it so bright in here?" I mutter, dropping my backpack to the floor without a care, "Mom? You there?"
Footsteps came hard and quick from the living room.
"Where were you, young lady?"
That voice, those words. They shut me down. They were exactly what my dad said to me that evening. The day Annie died. Only, instead he shouted them at me. Over and over again. Like a broken record.
"Well, hey there dad," I reply, "Long time no see."
It was true. He was barely ever home. As a cytologist, he constantly went to meetings. In or out of state. Didn't matter.
"How're all those cells and macromolecule stuff going?"
"Where were you?"
"At an after school meeting for (favorite hobby/club). Nowhere special besides the hellhole."
By that, I meant school. Not the club itself.
"Is that supposed to be funny?" His face darkens, obviously not liking the sarcasm, "Because it's not (Name). Why do you always have to be so..."
Terrible? Miserable? Depressed? Downright shitty? Horrible? So I can pretend we're standing fifteen feet apart with no hugs, hellos, or how-have-you-been after not seeing your family for a long time because I'm being shitty. Not because we despise each other.
"...caustic. This is totally unacceptable. Why didn't you call me? Why didn't you tell me?"
"About what? The after school (hobby/club) meeting?" I ask, confused.
"About (Name of school)!" he says, "About your grades. Your mother. The paintings. Why on earth didn't you tell me about her, (Name)!?"
"What's wrong?" I panic, "Where is she? Does she even know you're here?"
I'm really scared that he's upset her. He always had a way of doing that. I fly past him and run into the living room. To my relief, she's there, painting.
Only painting. That's good. That was a good thing.
"Hey Mom," I say, smiling, "You hungry? Do you want some cereal, perhaps?"
She just shook her head.
"Dad? Cereal?"
"No, I-"
"A ham and cheese sandwich?"
"What I want is an explanation, (Name)!" he shouted, gesturing to the walls.
"They're paintings, Dad. Mom's an advanced painter, remember?"
Probably not.
He turned around in a slow circle, never keeping his eyes off the paintings.
"Every single wall in this house is covered with paintings and drawings. Completely covered."
Well, I can't lie. He was right about that. Mom's started to nail her artwork to the ceiling too.
"There must be over a hundred of them. All of Annie," he says.
Ever since Annie's death in 1987, my mom has been non stop painting pictures of her. All over the house. It took me a while to get used to it. But eventually I did.
"How long has this been going on, (Name)?"
"I don't know. For a few years?"
"Years!?" he exclaims.
"Look dad, she's a lot better this way. When she's painting, it's a way of letting her emotions out. She's not screaming, crying or throwing things like she used to, okay?" I tell him, "What do you want, Dad? And why did you even come?"
He stops staring at the ceiling, and looks at me.
"Because I..." he starts. But his words fell away. He looked puzzled. Apologetic and flustered. Like you do when you run up to someone you think you know and take their arm, and when they turn around, you were wrong.
"Because I got a letter from (Name of school)." he finally continues, "I called you about it. At least fifteen times. No one answered. I left a handful of messages. Better yet, a mouthful of them. No one called back, so I got on a plane. Your teachers said you have C's and D's in your classes. You may not pass your junior year in college. What the hell is going on, (Name)?"
"For the record," I defend myself, "I don't have C's and D's in all my classes. I got an A in English. Did my English teacher tell you?"
He doesn't hear me. Well, he pretends not to.
"A couple years ago, back in middle school and high school, you were a straight A and B student."
"In all of my classes."
"I don't understand this. I don't understand you, (Name). What happened to you?"
I looked at him in disbelief, curling my hands into fists at my sides, "Are you serious? Are you really asking me that? Really? Did you like, catch Alzheimer's or something!?"
He's silent for a few seconds. All I can hear is the sound of the mantel clock ticking in the room and Mom's brush against her canvas.
Then he sighs irritably, "Dammit (Name), Annie's dead."
"I'm aware of that, thank you." I roll my eyes.
"So let her go then."
"Just like you've done. New life, no strife, right?"
"Annie died. Annie. Not you, (Name)."
"I know. It's unfortunate, isn't it? For all of us."
Dad looked as if someone manhandled him to the ground. He sits down in a nearby chair and covers his face in the palms of his hands.
"My God, what am I going to do with you, (Name)?" he groans softly.
This is it. The big reconciliation scene. Where I see myself running to his arms and he holds me. Never lets me go. And we cry into each other's clothing with bright silver tears and everything is better. I wait for the violin music to start. For the entire symphony orchestra to kick in. But it doesn't. And it won't. I knew that. I've been waiting almost all my life.
"When does summer break start?" he asks me, lowering his hands to look at me.
"Today."
"And when do you go back?"
"August 24th."
He takes out his phone. "Okay," he says after a few seconds, "Thank you. That works. Actually that's perfect. You can come with me."
"We tried that once remember? It didn't work. My step mom hates me."
"I meant to get a job. For the night shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizza. I'm flying there south of Kansas on Monday. For work. For you to start working there. As long as the airline doesn't call a strike, that is too. We're staying with my parents who live over there. They have a new place. There's plenty of room too. You're coming with me."
I laugh out loud. "No, I'm not. No way."
"No debates about it, (Name). You're coming with me to Kansas and you'll be working the night shift at Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria. Part time, not a full time. We'll be at Kansas for about three weeks, at the least. That'll be plenty of time for you to earn money."
"Not only as a punishment," he continues, "but for you to start learning how it feels to be responsible, and so we can pay for you and your mother's rent. I'm tired of always receiving overdue or past due bills. Oh and procrastination is definitely not acceptable either. I hope you know that."
"Aren't you forgetting something, Dad?" I finally speak up, "What about Mom? What are we going to do about her? We can't just leave her by herself!"
"I'm going to check your mother into an institution," he responds.
I just give him a blank stare, too shocked to even reply.
"I called Dr. Marcus. Right after I got here. He'll get her into one. A nice, decent one. Can you pack some things for her? I'm planning on taking her early tomorrow or-"
"Why!?" I shout angrily, "Why are you doing this? You were never even here when you were supposed to be. Years ago. And now all of a sudden you're here. And no one even asked you to be! We're just fine without you! Absolutely fine. We've always been fine without you."
"Fine? This is your definition of fine?" he shouts back, "This house is a dump. A pig sty. A piece of shit. Your mother's lost her mind since Annie's passing. You may end up repeating your grade in college. Nothing's fucking fine, (Name). Nothing."
"I'm not going. I swear I'm not. Especially not at that damn haunted restaurant! No!"
I pick up my bags and head towards the door.
"(Name)? Where the hell are you going? (Name), I asked you a-"
"I'm not going to Kansas," I say, slamming the door behind me. "I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm definitely not getting a job at that fucking kid's pizzeria! I never want to go back there and I'm not going to. I swear to God I'm not! NEVER!"
-
(A/N: Oh, and just to add something really quick, I put "XXXX" on the date so you could decide and imagine what the date is. Just in case if you were wondering. xD c; Also, I wasn't sure where Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria's location was when I tried researching on its Wiki, so I kinda made up a state that came in mind. uvu"
So, until I know the precise location in that game, it's gonna stay Kansas :P (So...I guess you Kansas peeps might wanna watch out! >D Mwahahahaha!! )
But other than that, the previous author's note technically says it all. :) )
FNAF © Scott Cawthon
You © Yourself
Story © Me