finding her voice

(2) I'm in trouble and Look who's here...

The song that you see above is called I hate you/I love you and is by Olivia O'Brien and G-easy. I thought the song would go good with this chapter since we finally get to see —in action — just who the infamous Carter is that Lila supposedly claims to hate or almost do, anyway. The next chapter Carter will start to have more of a part in Lila's story.

Now, without further interruptions from me, I introduce to you chapter 2 of Finding Her Voice titled, I'm in trouble and look who's here. Enjoy! ❤️

———————————

Chapter 2

I'm In Trouble and Look Who's Here

"What the hell?" My dad was the first to speak. His mouth was agape for all the flies to crawl into it and have a party. He has a black scruffy beard complete with a mustache. He was the complete package, as you could imagine. He had brown eyes, with pink, thin lips. Dad had an olive tone, grey hairs here and there on top of his dark brown hair, despite the fact that he so desperately tried to hide the fact that he was indeed getting old.

"Lila," Mom starts to speak in a very calm, scary manner. "Please tell me that grapes had somehow exploded on top of your hair and that you did not dye your beautifully, natural hair purple." My mom spoke through clenched teeth as her facial expression began to tense up the more her words formed into a sentence. She was trying to keep calm, but I could tell that with every word she'd spoken it had gotten louder than the last. Her patience was beginning to thin. It was hardly noticeable, but not impossible to see that mom could blow at any second. She was like a bomb and could explode at any moment. So, take cover and protect your ears if you can!

If you're wondering, my mom has platinum blonde hair, green eyes that resemble mine, a fair complexion, plump, pink lips and a slight point to her nose. She's all professional in her purple and black pantsuit. She is even wearing black high heels, which my mom hates to wear with a burning passion inside her. She just doesn't like high heels. Her reasoning for why she doesn't like them is because they are just not at all comfy. Her words, not mine. She still insists on being miserable all day by wearing the shoes she loathes and despises because they make her look 'semi-professional', apparently. Meanwhile, my dad is dressed in an ocean blue button down shirt, with a fancy black blazer and black pants to match. Also, black leather shoes. If my dad does not want to wear something, though: he won't. It doesn't matter what occasion it is. He is just way too stubborn to succumb to any type of fashion he doesn't want to wear all because it is claimed 'appropriate' for the occasion.

My dad sucked in a breath of air making me realize what my mom had said. It wasn't a question, but it might as well have been because she expected an answer either way. "I dyed it," I replied, hesitantly. My shoulders are beginning to sag beneath me. I say the words as if they are foreign and I do not understand what they mean. "I knew you wouldn't like it, so I did it behind your back. It saves us a lot of arguing if you think about it because we both know you would eventually cave in, anyway. So you should probably be thanking me now." Did I mention that when I get nervous, along with babbling on and on about nothing, I also tend to sass a lot? When I get nervous it is almost like my mouth and my mind are not attached to the same body. In these kinds of situations, my lips tend to take over for me and I have no control over what happens.

The good thing about this situation is that my dad is only pretending to care for my mom's sake right now because if he did care, I might lose my nerve. He is the real scary one when he gets angry. The great thing about him, though is that he rarely ever gets angry. I think that's his secret weapon because he knows that we aren't used to his anger. So, it's like a rare surprise. But, not at all pleasant. It's kind of like when your teacher surprises you for a pop quiz about a topic you forgot all about ever learning.