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94
Abandoned
nonetheless, I was completely and utterly broken inside.
I slowly made my way to the tram station, not caring for the cold.
In fact, I didn’t try to resist it, choosing instead to simply relax and
accept it. It was my sole source of comfort, and I shivered as it
wrapped its bony and bitter hands around me, offering me
condolence. The tram arrived and for a short second, I saw a pale
girl with bloodshot eyes in the translucent door. She looked at me
reproachfully, as if her sadness had been caused by me. I made my
way through the silent tram and sat on the far end, collapsing
carelessly onto the seat and closing my eyes, exhausted without
having done anything.
‘Get out of my house!’
‘Your house?! Who earns the damn money for the family?!’
‘You still call this a family?! There isn’t one damned good thing about this
place!’
‘Oh yeah?! Well how about you get out of here since you hate it so much?!’
I heard something smash against the wall, as I huddled in a fetal position
behind my bedroom door. My hands were tightly pressed on my ears as I
desperately tried to block out the terrifying noises coming from outside my room.
‘Why did I ever think I loved you anyway?! You’re nothing but an eyesore!’
‘I’m glad we finally agree on something! You’ve never done anything but
complain!’
A door slammed, and I heard my dad kick the wall and yell in frustration.
Through a grey-tinted window, I saw the car hastily reverse out of the driveway
and speed off out of my sight.
It had been 8 months since that incident, and I was in my room again,
attempting to solve a particularly difficult question. I heard the front door open
as well as some muffled footsteps, before hearing it close again. I was quite certain
that had been my mother. Could I even call her that anymore? She obviously
didn’t care very much about me, only ever stepping foot into this house to drop off
my money for a month. She had a new family to love now. A salesman as a
husband and two small sons. Of course she didn’t have time for me. Sighing, I put
my arithmetic aside and went to collect the monthly delivery. I shivered as my
bare feet touched the cold white tiles of the kitchen floor. Whilst my mother had
moved on successfully, my father was much less fortunate. He is always out
drinking, trying pathetically to drown his sorrows in alcohol. I almost never see
him either, unless I am still awake in the latest hours of the night, when I hear his
heavily drunken footsteps stumble towards his room, bringing the stench of
alcohol with him.
10