A deafening sound interrupts my beautiful dream. It takes me a moment to realize that the sound is coming from that infernal contraption more commonly known as an alarm clock.
I want to throw it against the wall, but my mother would do the same to me, and that idea doesn't thrill me at all.
I turn off the alarm and roll over, hoping to fall back asleep. Then I remember what day it is.
Shit, today is Monday. It's my first day at work.
I jump out of bed and grab some clothes at random from the chair, which has become my new wardrobe.
I just hope the shirt isn't dirty.
I dash down the stairs and head to the kitchen to grab something to eat. I see my mom already sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in her hands.
"Why didn't you wake me up earlier knowing I start work today?" I ask her.
She looks at me and raises an eyebrow perfectly drawn with an eyebrow pencil.
It's my mom, and she does her makeup better than I do, damn it.
"You said you were becoming responsible, Brianna. So it's also your responsibility to wake up on time," she tells me.
I hear hurried footsteps coming down the stairs, and then my dad walks into the kitchen.
But shouldn't he be at work already?
He looks at my mom. "Kate, honey, why didn't you wake me up seeing that I'm late for work?"
My mom slams her right hand on the table. "You're adults! Wake up on your own, idiots!" she yells.
"Mom," I call her.
She responds gruffly. "What is it?"
"Are you on your period?" I ask her.
"Yes, okay? I'm the one suffering, not you. You can't understand what we girls go through once a month," she tells me.
I sigh. "Mom, I remind you that I'm a girl too and I have periods."
"You're right."
My dad has a scared look on his face. When my mom and I are dealing with our things, he has to behave well and provide all the chocolate we need. He's literally terrified of us when we have our periods.
"I'll stop by to get a bar of dark chocolate on my way back from work," he says, directed at my mom.
Mom looks at him disapprovingly, so Dad tries again. "Two bars of chocolate? One dark and one milk?"
Mom is still disapproving.
"Three bars of chocolate? One dark, one milk, and one white chocolate?"
Mom is still not happy.
"One dark, one milk, and one white chocolate, and a jar of Nutella?" he tries again.
Mom smiles happily. "Chris, have I ever told you how much I love you?"
Dad mumbles incomprehensible things.
He's probably cursing the woman he decided to marry.
I turn to look at him. "Dad, will you take me to work?"
"Sorry Brianna, but I'm running late too."
"No need to stop. You slow down and I'll get out while the car is still moving."
"Deal," and we shake hands.
I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth and catch up with my dad in the car.
As we previously decided, I get out of the car while it's still moving.
I reach the shop and open the door.
I wish I hadn't.
As soon as I did, something fell off a shelf.
The person who should be my boss raises an eyebrow. "Am I going to have to secure every object that might fall as soon as you open that damn door while you work here?" he asks me.
I smile. "He can always remove the door if he wants."
The boss sighs. "First of all, you're late. Second, my name is Paul, but you'll call me just 'boss'. Third, James, the guy next to me, will give you tasks, and you'll obviously perform them. Last thing, do you know how to draw?"
"Yes, why?"
"If your drawings are decent, you might end up drawing the tattoos."
I wrinkle my nose. "I don't draw on command. And then I'd have to listen to people saying 'I want a tattoo like this, but without this corner here, I want to add that, I want to put this other thing...', no thanks," I retort.
Paul looks at me seriously. "Will you complain about everything?"
"Sure. And he can't even fire me, considering I'm working here for a specific reason."
He rolls his eyes. "I can always sue you for vandalism."
I widen my eyes. "But he can't do that! I didn't even touch that damn painting!"
He waves his hand in the air. "Whatever. Now get to work. And bring me some of your drawings tomorrow," and he leaves the shop.
I turn to the tattooed guy. "So James, what's next?"
"You could start by not making anything fall. And next time you come to work, can you avoid getting out of a moving car? I wouldn't want people to think we employ crazy people here," he says coldly.
What a jerk.
I look at him seriously. "How do you know I'm crazy? Have you read my medical records?" I tease him.
James looks at me in shock. "I didn't mean... I didn't want to... It was just a figure of speech."
He looks so guilty that I decide not to push further. "I was just teasing, James. I'm not really crazy. Not in a certified way, at least."
"Have you ever thought about getting checked then?"
"Have you ever thought about being nice?"
James decides not to continue the discussion and gives me my first task to do.
The ringtone of my phone interrupts the silence of my room. I look at the screen and see that it's Carly, my best friend.I swipe the green icon to answer the call.I don't even get a chance to say "hello" before she starts talking."Tonight you and I are going dancing. I want to see you in a dress and heels. We'll get ready at my place and then walk to the Hunter so we can drink since we won't need to drive. No arguments. I'll pick you up at nine," and she hangs up.I couldn't have found a stranger best friend.I put the phone back where it was before, that is, thrown somewhere on my bed. As far as my first day went, it wasn't too bad, aside from James and the fact that I wasn't even looking for a job. I'm tempted to prepare some fake medical documents stating my insanity or that I have an extremely contagious and deadly disease, then bring them to work and leave them sticking out of my bag and wait for James to read them. Just to pass the time and get some revenge. Yesterday, he gav
Today is my second day of work, a job I've been looking forward to.After last night's "incident" with the heels, Carly and I ended up heading home because of the storm that rolled in. Nothing new, just my bad luck reminding me who runs my life. Convincing her to postpone our night of drinking until we mistook street lamps for celebrities, taking selfies with them, and posting them all over our social media with the caption "OMG, I finally met a star, so excited!"—only to be mocked for eternity—was a challenge.Basically, it was going to be a fantastic evening.We spent the rest of the night watching Pretty Little Liars and gaining at least ten pounds from all the junk food we devoured together.I grab one of my completed sketchbooks and put it in my bag. I don't have a preferred subject or style; my sketchbooks contain drawings of animals, landscapes, portraits of people, abstract subjects, plants. Watercolors, charcoal, and pencils alternate. Everything that inspires me ends up in o
I swing open the wooden door leading to the kitchen, grab one of the chairs around the table, and turn it to sit astride it. I look up to meet my parents' gaze, which was already fixed on me. "I need money," I start.My father raises an eyebrow. "How much?"I look at him. This is the moment he's going to kill me. "A little money..." I take a moment while he waits for my answer. "Something like a hundred or two hundred-"My father interrupts immediately with, "I'm broke." He returns to reading the newspaper he had left on the table during my entrance.My mother hasn't said a word yet. She continues to stare at me, and I must admit it's becoming unsettling. "Did you get yourself into trouble with some drug dealer and owe them money?" she asks.I roll my eyes. "No, but-"Before I can finish, she interrupts me. "Are you in trouble in general?""No m-" I'm interrupted again."Are you risking your life if we don't give you this money?" she continues.Oh God, this conversation will never end
Before heading home, I stopped at the small supermarket a couple of blocks from my house.As soon as I walked in, the air conditioning hit me like a blast of cold air from the North Pole.I get it—summer, heat, and all that—but turning a supermarket into a freezer in mid-June seems a bit excessive, doesn't it? What are they going to do in August? Try to freeze themselves to escape "heat depression"?I didn't even grab a cart since I only needed one thing: ice cream. My parents love ice cream.I ponder which flavors to get. My dad's favorite is cookie, while my mom's is mint. I grab one tub of each flavor, and while I'm at it, I also pick up my favorite—coconut. I head to the checkout, pay, and ask for one of those insulated bags to keep the ice cream from turning into a milkshake on the way home.I return home, open the door, and close it behind me, placing the keys on the table next to the door.No sign of my parents.I take the ice cream tubs to the kitchen and put them in the freez