The sound of my alarm clock ringing next to me causes me to jump. It doesn't feel like I have been asleep at all. Between the nightmares and my nerves about today, I'm a total disaster.
I can't believe I'm finally leaving this place. It still doesn't seem real. I've been here my whole life.
My family has never had the extra money for trips anywhere. I used to hate it when all my friends at school would come back from these beach vacations. All tan and full of stories with lots of pictures and memories. I lied a couple of times, even making up a whole family vacation to the Smoky Mountains one time. I doubt they believed me, though.
Between my brother Jason's ROTC, my sister April's cheerleading, and my court fines, we were always broke.
We always had enough to get by, but never any extra.
This town infested with gossip and plagued with depression is all I know. Everyone here wears some kind of mask, which they hide behind. Their secrets and lies stay hidden deep down inside. This helps them to act like they are perfect and to put on a performance. In reality, they are far from it. They are fast to judge me for my mistakes when they should be the ones looking in the mirror. Everyone has a past. Some are worse than others.
I force myself to crawl out from beneath the warmth of my blankets. Taking a moment to steal a glance over at my already-packed luggage. It hadn't taken me long to cram all my personal items into a few suitcases. My whole life has been reduced to three little bags.
At least they are new. Black leather with dark red embroidered stitching. My initials are hand sewn into each one. A gift from my Nana for getting accepted to college.
A wave of guilt washes over me. If she knew the truth, would she still be proud of me? The sudden twinge in my gut tells me she wouldn't.
The old worn-out floorboards creak underneath my weight as I stand up. I used to have every inch of this floor memorized. I knew exactly which floorboards creaked and moaned when stepped on. There are several loose boards that I had pried up and turned into my secret hiding spots over the years. You can tell which ones they are by their discoloration.
For years, I could sneak in and out undetected. Both of my parents were heavy sleepers. This helped to make it even easier for me. After my father passed away, my mother had a hard time coping. She would over-medicate herself with sleeping pills to get by. She spent most of the time napping in her room. Often sometimes being gone several days in a row.
Those days seem so long ago.
Since the day I was born, this has always been my room. I know every detail of every inch. One hundred and fifty-seven screws are holding up the ceiling tiles. I acquired this information one night when my insomnia was acting up. I had laid awake for hours that night, staring up at the ceiling. My mind was a jumbled mess of thoughts. Counting the screws had given me something else to focus on, to clear my mind.
Rooms are like people in certain ways. They can receive abuse and scars over the years as we do. Several deep gouges run along my back wall from where I shattered a mirror against it in a fit of rage. Over something so minor, I don't even remember what it was now.
This is the smallest room in the house, but it's mine. It's the only thing in my life that has ever stayed consistent. When Jason left for the army, he offered me his, but I declined. April was more than willing to take it. She traded in her princess pink room for his army green one. My mom, of course, redecorated it. Fresh paint, furniture, and an ugly purple furry rug. While I still have the same pale blue paint I chose when I was seven.
Change is not something that I handle well. Today is going to be a major struggle.
I have woken up every day for the past eighteen years staring at these same blue walls. With the same wooden floors and flower print curtains. Which I have always hated. I've never had the heart to tell my mom. It's not like she would care anyway. I'm the problem child. The one mistake she can't take back. I'm sure she would if she could.
I let out a deep sigh. Ugh, I really am going to miss this depressing little room. It's probably the only thing I will miss.
I deserve this.
I decide to go simple with my outfit choice for today. A pair of red biker shorts and a white tee. I normally don't like to wear shorts but despite it being September, the weather is extremely warm. Last time I checked it was in the high seventies and it's only the morning.
I hate my pale legs. I have huge thighs which are a nuisance. They repeatedly rub together, creating a heat rash. Not to mention the thigh area of all my pants gets worn out pretty fast.
Now for my hair, it's a disaster all on its own.
People always tell me how beautiful it is. That they wish they had my long dark curls. I know they're just saying this to make me feel better. No one would want this mess, trust me. Every day it has a mind of its own, frizzing out in all directions. It makes me look like I have a bird's nest on top of my head. Most days I don't even brush it. It's too much of a hassle.
After wetting it down with my squirt bottle I look like a drowned rat. I have to apply massive amounts of moisturizer and gel before I'm finally able to get it somewhat tamed. I rush to brush it a few more times, attempting to get some of the excess frizz out. My arm is sore by the time I finish.
Not wanting to spend too much time on my hair, I decided to throw it up into a messy bun on top of my head. A few loose strands hang down in the front.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror. It's not stunning but, I guess I look alright. My small muffin top is peaking somewhat over the top of my shorts. I'm not overweight, but I'm not skinny either. I have an average waist with a little extra in the front. Big thighs and a nice-sized butt. My breast, are a decent size. They sit nice and perky in place with help from my new Victoria's Secret push-up bra.
It's almost nine-thirty when I look over at the clock. My mom wants us to leave by ten, so we don't hit a bunch of midday traffic. Orientation doesn't start until three. But according to my mother, I need to have plenty of time to get there and get situated. Which makes sense. I need to find my dorm room and put my baggage up.
Since I could speak, my mother taught me that being organized and prepared is the key to having a good day.
I sigh, taking one last look around my childhood room.
My mom is sitting at the table reading as I drop my suitcases down onto the couch.
"You look nice today, sweetie. There are some muffins over on the counter if you want one?" she says, plastering on one of her fake smiles. She looks up at me from over the top of her newspaper.
Her age is beginning to show. She looks tired and worn out. Dark circles have begun forming underneath her soft green eyes. It's probably due to all the stress that I have caused her over the years. Her dark hair is turning grey in several spots. Many of them which are peaking out from her ponytail. It has also gotten significantly thinner than it used to be.
Her reading glasses are sitting perched on the top of her head. I don't understand why she even has them. She never uses them. I've always wanted to ask her, but I don't.
She's wearing an old, bland grey sweatshirt. It's so old now that it is three different shades of grey. Various stains are spewed across it, giving it some form of color.
"Thanks, Mom," I mumble, mustering a smile in return. I reach over and grab a banana nut muffin off of the overloaded plate.
"Are you sure you should wear those shorts? And just an FYI, we can see your pink lacy bra through your white shirt," my sister April sneers at me from behind. She reaches over my shoulder, and grabs the muffin out of my hand, taking a giant bite.
"Maybe that's the point. Unlike you, I have tits to show off," I growl under my breath.
I can already tell how this trip is going to be.
April is my younger sister. My mom's last child, the baby out of all three of us. Mom often teases that she gets away with everything because she's older now. It's harder on her than when I was little. The older you are, the harder it is to care for a child. Being a single mother also contributes to it. April could get away with murder, and my mom would be her alibi.
"Mom, I'll be in the car," I snap out of anger.
Aggravated, I snatch my suitcases off of the couch and drag them behind me toward the door. I fling the front door open a lot harder than I had intended to. The springs whine as the screen door opens farther, allowing me to drag my luggage out. The screen door makes a loud thud as it shuts behind me.
Mom's dark green Ford Focus sits in the driveway. It was the last car my father and she bought together. She can't seem to get rid of it. I doubt she would even if she could, even though she is way past due for a new one.
After messing with the lock for some time, I get the latch open. I have to move a bunch of things around before I can even load my belongings into the trunk.
While fighting with the trunk, April takes advantage of the situation. She runs out, jumping her big ass into the front seat. The car sags under her added weight.
It doesn't bother me any. I would much rather sit alone in the backseat, stretched out. By myself with my air pods in, ignoring them both the entire ride. It's a good thing I don't go anywhere without them. I think to myself, laughing as I place them in my ears. I scroll down the playlist and finally settle on some Kane Brown.
I prepare to block them out.
This is going to be a long three hours. I can tell by how this morning has played out. I watch as my mom rushes out of the house. Her purse swings wildly behind her. Her mouth is moving in an attempt to say something, but thanks to modern technology, I have no idea what she is saying.
I close my eyes and nestle down into the seat. I'm ready for this new chapter in my life to begin.
The car rumbles beneath me as it starts. It jerks slightly as she switches gears. The gentle motion is relaxing as it glides down the driveway, out onto the street.
I look back at my childhood home long enough to sneak one last look before closing my eyes.