"Mother! Do you even understand what you just did? You don't, do you? You just sit there and boss me around and it's my life! MY life." I glare at her, sitting at the kitchen counter and carefully filing paperwork. "You sent me to the guidance counsellor! On winter break. The whole school was empty. Are you insane?"
"You left, Margret. I drove you all the way there and you left."
"Yeah? So what? I walked home didn't I? Do you have any freaking idea how cold it is out there?"
"Margret, if you don't try and solve your problem, it won't get solved."
"Like you ever try and solve your problems! You're never here, you can't stand Dad, you don't even try and spend time with Michael! And don't call me Margret." I left and went upstairs, still angry.
I screamed into my pillow and vented all my frustation into that one soft, and beautifully muffling, object. Works better than a counsellor any day of the week. I punched the pillow for good measure, imagining various faces on it as I did so. Dom yelling curses at me. My workaholic mother who is generally a cold-hearted... I left that word out for politeness. Kirk, the donkey of a quarterback and all around nauseating guy. My ex-friend Trina who just decided that she, as the daughter of a politician, should no longer hang out with me and my anarchist ways. Yay.
The biggest issue, though, is the one downstairs filing paperwork. I mean, I have to live with her. Why is it that there isn't anybody in my life right now that I can see eye-to-eye with other than my younger brother? Most of the time I wish she and Dad would just go ahead and get a divorce. They're always yelling at each other, always at odds, and my mother, person that she is, always makes Dad the one to sleep on the couch.
In my room, I glance out the window. It's habit. There's the tree, dripping in icicles, the lawn, covered in barely touched snow. I bury my head in my hands. How'd I screw up? If anything, he screwed up. And yet... I'm loath to blame all this on the guy who spent the last weekend before winter break in the hospital. I still miss my Dom, the sweet one.
Something niggles on my mind and I look out the window again. The lawn, which I had thought was perfect, has one small spot that's been mussed up and almost filled in with fresh flakes. A pair of footprints. Right where he used to stand.