CHAPTER 1
All my life I’ve always tried to follow my dreams. I’d live to chase them down but there were always certain instances that made me turn my back on them and move on. My father was one of those reasons. He never let me do what I wanted. He thought that since he was successful, I should go and follow in his footsteps and become a younger female version of who he is now. Now, I know that it doesn’t sound that bad-or maybe it does-but I don’t want to live my life knowing I could’ve been doing something that I loved instead of having to put on a strong face all the time. I want that chance to be real-to be that someone who I’ve always dreamed to be.
“You’re doing no such thing,” said my father right after I asked him if I could take up film, and play collegiate golf, instead of accounting for college. “You were given the gift of intellect and intelligence, and I simply cannot let you waste that by going to college to study something that you may not even be able to pursue a career in. Let alone play a sport that may not even let you become professional.” “But dad, I don’t want to spend the next eight years of my life crunching numbers! I want to be out in somewhere like California working to be a director! Playing golf!” I whined aloud. We were having breakfast at the backyard of my deceased mother’s mansion, I really wished she was here right now. She always wanted me to pursue my dreams, no matter what they were, unlike my stupid father who only cares about himself and making himself look good. Going to her mansion was supposed to be a routine way of us “bonding” and for us to make up for lost time when I was younger. We never talked while we ate. I didn’t want to because I knew that I’d only get shut down in the end and also because he doesn’t care about what happens in my life. So trying to make up for lost time was pointless.
“Am I your father or not?” he reprimanded, putting down his cup of coffee. The sound of sprinklers sprinkling water over my mothers beautiful massive garden seemed to be the only things making a sound. “I don’t even know anymore.” I muttered to myself as I pushed my chair back roughly and ran back up to my room. He didn’t even bother to run up after me. I shut my bedroom door harshly as I crawled into my bed and cried, cried out all the pain my father has given me because of his stupid alcohol addiction, and not being in my life since I was two. The only thing I wanted was my mom to come through my bedroom doors, hold me in her arms and sing blackbird, circle game to me, and countdown from 100 in french to me. But I knew that this moment will never happen anytime soon. She died when I was two from a drunk driver. My parents were fighting one night. They were throwing things, and yelling horrible things, and my mom decided to get some air. Little did she know that four blocks from our house a drag race was going on and all the racers were drunk as hell. She was killed instantly.
You could take the priciest watch from my fathers collection and he’d never know because he doesn’t simply care. He’s the kind of person who doesn’t care about other peoples feelings, he only cared about himself and wanted everyone else to make him happy. I hated him for being like that. He never even spent any time with his family because all he did was hide and drink himself into a depression. Sometimes I wonder why he decided to have a kid, because he certainly didn’t seem to care about me. I didn’t realize that my phone had been buzzing until I started to calm down. I grabbed it from my bedside table and saw that Owen-my best friend-had been trying to reach me. I bit my lip as I contemplated on whether calling him now would be a good idea or not. Before I could even blink, my phone lit up again. “Hello?” I said into my phone trying my hardest not to make my voice hoarse and croaky. “Uh, have you been crying?” he asked almost instantly. “It’s nothing really.” I took a deep breath as I tried to make my lungs stop hurting from all the crying. My lungs have been burning inside for so long now and I really don’t know why. I didn’t smoke or do drugs. I was a completely clean person. I haven’t gone to the doctor because I didn’t really want to enter clinics or hospitals. I didn’t want to remember that place where I had to say goodbye to my mom for the last time. It was almost to much for me.
“Is your dad still at home?” he asked but it only made my head heat up more. I really didn’t want to talk about that woman. “I don’t know,” I coughed feeling liquid rise up in my throat. It tasted strange, like blood. I coughed to no end until I got up from my bed and went into the bathroom. I hunched over the toilet and let out whatever wanted to come out. I watched as blood splattered all over the toilet bowl as I coughed and wheezed. The sight of it made me even sicker. So I hurled everything I had for breakfast into the blood-filled bowl.
“Rileigh? What the hell is going on? I can practically hear you puking your guts out!” Owen screamed on the other line. I couldn’t talk or stop myself from gagging. I hung up on him and thew my phone to the side. After vomiting, I felt really tired. It felt like the whole world was spinning. I tried to stand up to flush the toilet but then a wave of dizziness hit me and made me stay in place for about 10 seconds. When I regained my composure, I flushed the toilet, splashed some water on my face, and brushed my teeth. When I was done I climbed back in my bed in hopes of getting some rest. I think a quick nap would probably work, but as soon as I shut my eyes and rolled to my side, I saw a figure push my door wide open and run to my side. I looked to the side sloppily to see who it was. Owen Peyton stared at me as if he had never seen me before. He ran a hand through his brown hair and made his way over to my bed, with the most anxious look on his face.
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