Roommate Romance

My life consists of the same thing repeatedly. I wake up, go to work, come back to my parents’ house, and go back to bed. I wake up and repeat it all again the next day.

So, when I woke up this morning, I was surprised to hear calming silence. Almost perfectly silent, the small echo of the television was the only thing I heard.

I sat up in my bed. The white comforter was thick and comfy enough to lull me back to sleep. I fight against my senses and rise out of my bed. My feet hit the cold wooden floor and I shuffle to the dressers.

I take off my shirt and throw on a bra, which only brings attention to the layers of scars and new scabs on the bottom of my ribcage. I slide my fingers over them, remembering what I really did last night.

I try to pull myself out of that moment and pull out a striped pair of shorts and a sweatshirt. I begin tucking the sweatshirt in to the shorts, making it look cute. I put on a black belt to complete the outfit.

I throw my hair up in a messy ponytail and put my favorite socks on—the ones that read 'fuck you' on the side.

I slip on my converse and walk out the door cautiously. My mother sat on the couch with her headphones in, listening to something, as she was silently agreeing to the words being spoken. It must have been a meeting or something, which explained the silence.

My father must have been out of the house, which was the perfect opportunity to slip out to work. I went back into my room to grab my small purse and tucked my phone in it, along with my keys. My parents would probably not let me back in if I forgot my keys.

I rush out the door, and with my mom facing the opposite direction, with her headphones in, there's no way she could hear me. I quickly slip out of the dark blue door just before I could get a reaction from anyone.

Underneath the porch steps was a small door. It used to have a lock on it, but it only had a small, rusted hatch now. The only thing inside was my skateboard that I've had for way too long.

I had been riding since I was about eight years old. It was a cheap one I found at a random store, and begged my aunt to buy, which she did. It's a boring skateboard really, just black…until you flip it over.

It had a skull with purple slime oozing out the eyes dramatically, yet so artistically. I was a sucker for art, and always had been. I did art instead of any of the dumb sports. My dad not so secretly shared his disappointment in me for not choosing sports.

Next to the oozing skull was my name, which I kind of despised at this point in time. Below that, messy and handwritten, it read 'society killed the teenager,' which is a quote I got off of the internet but felt compelled by.

If you couldn't tell, I customized the skateboard by myself. Acrylic paint and a printer can do magic.

I had a necklace around my neck, light and small, but heavy with sentimental meaning. It was a rectangular plate on a small chain. It had my dog’s name hand carved into the silver plate. Benny on the front, and 2003-2018 on the back.

Benny was a German Shepard. He was a very good boy and stayed by my side through it all. He passed away naturally in the nighttime on the floor next to me. It seems morbid, but I think it gave him comfort being with his person during his death.

My parents rescued him when I was two, giving him the opportunity to grow with me.

He was very old when he died, defying all the odds of the vets or dogs his breed. Fifteen was super rare for bigger dogs, but Benny was a fighter.

I miss him more than anyone.

I ride down the hill, heading towards the shopping center that the coffee shop was in. The wind blew my dark brown hair out of my face. It almost made my mind feel clearer, or somewhat relaxed.

I finally finish skating down the hill, and I turn and go up the slight elevation of the sidewalk, riding toward Colbert’s.

"Kenny! Your shift starts in two, want a coffee?" a voice says as I ride past the parking lot. I recognize the voice anywhere though, my manager Saanvi.

"Thank you!" I yell.

I run into the store which already has two tables filled with the normal customers that come in every day. They recognize my strange entrance and disregard it, just like always.

My least favorite part of working here though was Heather, an eighteen-year-old high school dropout who thinks she knows everything. She would never know I hated her though. I just listen to her bullshit every week for a couple days.

"Lettie! My fav girl."

Of course, she came up with a dumb nickname for me.

"Hey, Heather," I sigh with a forced smile.

Then she begins to tell me about her boyfriend, Jacob, who fucked another girl named Madi. Apparently, the sex between them was a lot better so they decided to have a threesome and now they are a troupe.

Gossip that I didn't need to know and didn't want to know.

The rest of the day flies by. My seven hours of hell with Heather were over. She talked to me more about relationships issues, and how her man’s dick was small or some shit. How she might be a lesbian, but I didn't care. What does it matter what sexuality she is? We're all in love in some way.

I finally get to go home.

I ride home quickly, trying to avoid the harsh wind that whips around my face. I slide into my front door, almost slipping by my parents.

"Hey! You didn't make your bed this morning," my mother yelled.

I stopped walking, knowing damn well I would get hit if I ignored her.

"Sorry Mom," I mumble.

"You know what, Violet. This bullshit will not be tolerated in my house. I have been cleaning after you for your entire life and it's time you get your shit together!" My mother curses, standing from her seat and approaching me.

"Okay Mom, I won't do it again," I quickly said. I slammed my door behind me, locking it in the hopes of fighting off my mother.

I heard my mom run towards my bedroom door. She pounded her fists and kicked my door.

"Get the fuck out of there! I swear to god. I'll make you regret ever living in the first place," my mother shouted, still pounding on the door.

My hands trembled as I grabbed my chair and tucked the back of it under the doorknob. Tears begin falling from my eyes…the tears I hadn't let fall for far too long.

"Open the door!" she yelled, making my hands go to my ears.

"No, please," I cried. My eyes felt heavy and swollen as I continued to cry.

"Open the door. Now, Violet."

I didn't respond, leaning against the wall with my knees tucked to my chest, and my hands over my ears.

Then, the doorknob shook. I grabbed it helplessly, trying to keep it in place. The door was threatening to open, but I slammed my body against it, doing anything to protect myself.

"Violet! I swear, if you don't open this door—"

I flew back to the floor, my back hitting the cold ground again. My eyes flew open, and I saw my mother standing over me with a candle.

"Are you fucking serious? I give you all of this, and you throw it away..."

My mother approaches me.

"I wish I had gotten lucky." She pauses. "…We thought you were the baby at the foster care that looked the most like us, so we got you. God, that was a fucking mistake."

I sat there, not moving out of fear of being hurt. This conversation hurt ten times more than a punch to the stomach ever could.

She eyed me with a scowl before looking at a wooden sign of all our names on the wall. She breathes slowly before the breaths accelerate.

She rips the wooden sign off the wall and throws it at me, making sure it hits my head in some way. Then, before I can react, she closes the door behind her and stomps away.

I sit up and touch my forehead, feeling the warm sensation of blood trickling down my head. I was alone now with a gash in my head that was bleeding tremendously.

The sign was not broken, but it had a tinge of my blood on it. I sit with it in my lap, trying to contain myself, but it's no use. All of our names. Maybe not a coincidence that she chose that one to throw.

She's always disliked my name, but it was the name that my biological parents gave me, so they kept it.

And that is why I despise my name.

"I don't understand this Vincent. How am I supposed to trust you if you're out fucking other women?" my mother shrieked.

I slipped out of bed, still not paying full attention to the conversation happening in the kitchen.

"Who? Was it Raina from the auto shop? Or was it Vera from the grocery store?" my mother yelled.

"Vivian, I didn't sleep with anyone but you. You're simply being paranoid," my father spoke angrily.

I walked toward my mirror, looking at the gash in my forehead from a couple days ago. I touched it lightly, wincing when it stung.

I stepped into the kitchen, and both their eyes darted to me. My mother confronted me, moving in front of me so the only thing I saw was her.

"Is this yours?" she asked with a furious tinge to her voice. My mother held a purple thong in her hand, and she dangled it in front of my face.

This must have been found in their bedroom. I don't wear thongs. It's not unusual for my mother to wonder this, considering my father’s nature. He had cheated one too many times.

My father had always been verbally violent with me, but he had never gone so far as to try to hurt me physically.

I snapped back to the current situation.

"No, it's not mine, I swear—"

I was cut off with a slap to the jaw.

"See Viv? I was correct this entire time. She just said it wasn't hers!" My dad yelled, finally letting the anger effect his voice.

My mother forced me to the nearest wall with her body, pushing me with great power. I was trapped against the wall now with my mother hovering over me. She was 6’1”, and my father was 6’4”. However, I was only 5’6”, which wasn't incredibly short, but you're probably wondering where the fuck I got that from.

I was adopted from Virginia, but now I live in New York. My biological mother died during my birth, and my biological father went to jail after. He is in jail for life, or what's left of it, and I don't think I ever want to see him. My entire life could have been better if he had stayed out of trouble. But no, he decided to get into the wrong business, and get caught.

I was adopted when I was seven by Vincent and Vivian. If you think the matching letters is ironic, I'll have you know, my name also starts with a V.

"Do you hear me, Violet? I'm sick of this lying bullshit!" my mother yelled, bringing me back to the current situation. Her hand wrapped around my neck firmly and I squirmed.

"Yes, I hear you," I muttered, looking her in her light blue eyes. A simple color could never haunt me so much before, but then I saw her eyes. They are terrifyingly bright, so cold that you can feel the stone underneath of them.

My father's eyes were a dark brown, normally kind and curious, but not now. They were not nearly as horrifying as the eyes of my so-called mother though.

My father was no good guy though. He had always been hurtful with his words. My mother was the physical kind of abusive, but my father was the opposite.

My mother released me from her horrifically strong grip.

"Clean your shit up and get out," she said alarmingly calm, almost as if she was at peace with me being gone.

"What?" I murmured stupidly.

"Pack your shit and get the fuck out of my house!" my father yelled. "You're a slut. Who knows where you went yesterday? Probably selling your body for the only thing it's useful for…sex."

I quickly ran to my bedroom, unable to think about what I was going to do. I was only nineteen, and I had just gotten out of high school and had barely gotten a job. I couldn't afford to leave this house, let alone provide for myself. I had to find a place to live now. I'm not going to be able to afford rent or any of the necessities I needed.

What the fuck am I going to do?

I opened my closet and took out the suitcase my aunt had used for all of her vacations. I lived in her old room because she was in a divorce a couple years ago and lost everything.

I stuffed all of my necessities in the bag: my laptop, hygiene items, and a couple things to eat and drink. I also packed my stuffed animal, a small blue dog that I've had since I was four. It was far past worn, but I loved it.

It was Christmas and Auntie Dixie should have been on her way by now.

"Why are you packing?" a light voice said from behind me, and I was finally able to relax.

I turned around to see my aunt with a look of concern etched on her features. Sure, she wasn't my biological relative, but she was a better person than both of my parents combined.

She was tall with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes that were dark and curious.

"They're kicking me out Dixie," I muttered, making her face drop. "I-I know you can't do anything to help because of your debt and I'm sorry," I admitted tearfully.

She pulled me into a hug and kissed my forehead, but I could feel the unwanted presence near us.

"Dixie, leave her alone. Let her go," my mother said.

"Why would you do this?" she yelled, making my mother blink with shock. Dixie was never one to yell, only to be unapologetically sympathetic.

"Dix, she's nineteen. She will be just fine on her own—"

"You wouldn’t pull this shit on anyone but her. It makes me fucking sick," she yelled, interrupting my mother’s words.

"Dixie, you better watch yourself before you have no place to go for the holidays," my mother spat bitterly.

"Oh please," Dixie sputtered, looking at my mother in disbelief.

"Should I call your work? Tell them that you were intoxicated while teaching, hm? Is that what you want?" she said, scowling at my aunt.

Her eyes looked heavy with guilt and sadness, and she let go of me. There was no one for me now, no one.

My aunt had always been very invested in her job ever since she was young. She was a lot younger than my mom because she was an 'accident baby.'

I understood what it would mean to her to be in that situation, and have her reputation ruined in the education field forever. She could also possibly be kicked out of the school, which was her only source of income.

"I'm sorry, Vi," she muttered quietly, walking out of her old bedroom. My mother didn't smirk or frown, she simply stared at the ground and walked away from me.

I knew it was my time to go. I grabbed my things and walked through the quiet halls of the house, finding my way out quickly.

What was I going to do now? I was all alone on the streets, and Dixie wasn't going to help me. She couldn't.

I knew my mom was going to find a way to ruin our relationship. 'No Dixie, she doesn't need you calling her all the time. Leave her alone.' Sounds like something she would say.

I only had one option now. I needed to find a home. It didn’t matter where, but I had to find somewhere to live.

I grabbed my skateboard and zoomed away into the night, watching the road disappear beneath the small wheels. My entire life was shattered now, and no one would ever know how my parents treated me.

I was alone now.

I was barely even able to fathom the fact that my dad had cheated on my mom, but they would probably just forget about it and continue living the way they did.

This wouldn't be the first time.

But this time, I wasn't even going to know how it ended. I was gone now. I never wanted to go back.