This is something that just popped in my head and may cause me to take a short break from Breena. Sad, I know. What do you think so far? Is it too Bridget Jones's diary?
I’m sitting here at my cheap desk that is falling apart under the extreme weight of my computer, school books, and whatever filth is covering the surface. Now that it has come to my attention, I fear trying to clean it. Who knows what monsters are hidden beneath the papers, candy wrappers, and soda cans. It shows a lot of who I am. Clearly, I’m a mess.
‘Mess’ does not even begin to describe my situation. More like catastrophe, bedlam, or simply utter failure.
Take for instance just the last year or so of my life. I think I should have written these select memories down as they were happening, because maybe there wouldn’t be as many gaps in my story where my thoughts fear to travel then there should be.
Because of who I am, the complete wreckage of a young woman, I will just cut to the chase here and skip all that mumbo jumbo introduction thing that I’ve read in so many novels. It makes me just want to puke, honestly. Who would want to read about me being a high school senior with no boyfriend, no friends, and living in a broken home? It is a snooze fest just waiting to happen I tell you!
And due to the fact that all that was just skipped, I’ll start my story in an apartment building where I once lived with my mother, brother, sister, sister’s boyfriend, and sister’s baby, a little over a year ago.
It was a two bedroom apartment and the ugly beige carpets were never tacked to the floor. The owner of the building tried his hardest to renovate the place before we moved in. Someone should have never let him pick up a hammer. The moldings around the windows and shelves were crooked and were never painted. The doors were rather difficult to close properly and the bathroom door never closed at all. The lead paint was pealing. The glass in the windows shook every time an eighteen wheeler drove by.
Oh yeah, we lived right next to the busy highway.
Awesome apartment, in my opinion.
It started out with just my mother and I, back before my brother got out of jail and my sister got knocked up. I liked it when it was just the two of us. But, of course Henry was let out on parole and Jessica started dating Baron.
Well, since this story is in fact about me, I’m going to skip a year or so and move straight on to where we are getting ready to move out.
My brother slept on the couch while my sister’s little family had their own room. I shared a room with my mother. How awkward is that? My mother had a hard time paying rent. It was unbelievably expensive to live on our own, so a little kissing up was done and my father took us back.
Granted, I lived with him too while all this was going on. I went back and forth every other day. Sometimes when I woke up, I didn’t even know which bed I was in, which home I was in, along with what I was going to wear to school that day.
We began getting excited about leaving, but I was sad to leave the place. There would be things I would miss, small experiences that changed my life.
Take for instance, that night I was sitting on our back step, watching our two small dogs as they sniffed around the grass and bushes. It was a cool summer night and the stars were shining and the moon was bright even though it was only a quarter moon. I hugged myself tightly and closed my eyes, wishing I didn’t have to be alone.
That is the thing about me, I’m always alone, even when I’m with someone, but I’m getting a little ahead of myself here.
There was a small window at the top of our building, my guess was that it was to an attic or the guy on the third floor’s bedroom. I couldn’t really tell from where I sat. But I had a feeling that someone was looking down on me from that window at that exact time. It was somehow thrilling.
My imagination began to build on this. I imagined that it was a young man, about twenty. Except he wasn’t exactly a man, more like an immortal vampire who wished to spend eternity with a chaotic young lady such as myself.
Typical teenager, I know!
Every night, when I’d take my dogs out for one last stroll around the yard, I’d glance up at that window. It felt as if he was real, that he wanted to come down from his attic prison and sweep me off my feet.
But, sadly, that was just my imagination talking there. Only, my fantasy of such a creature existing didn’t stop there. It haunted me throughout the experiences that followed.
