Still

Chapter Fifteen

Monsters did exist. They lived in the shadows, and they were the ones who grabbed at your ankles when you woke up in the middle of the night. As a kid, they were one of those things I quickly learned did not exist, like the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus, but kids clinged to hope like it was life support; they were too young to know any better. These stories were ridiculous, sure, but they made sense to an imaginative child.

I used to think that Dad couldn't get angry. Perhaps it just wasn't in his system, which was why Mom had to be the straight man for him. They were in love once, but probably not in my life time. I once thought they were good at hiding it.

Maybe they just got bad at hiding it, or maybe they just didn't care anymore. The older I got, the louder their arguments were. I'd stay in my room for longer stretches of time so I didn't have to see Dad's red eyes, or Mom sneak out of her bedroom with a blanket and pillow in hand.

I didn't know how I couldn't see it coming sooner. I didn't know why their fights effected me so badly. They fought and screamed at each other when they thought I was asleep. Ha. I'm surprised they haven't linked their fights to the fact that I began falling asleep in school back in our old town.

The reason I was actually getting sleep since the move was because there would be days Mom wouldn't even get home from the office. It might have also been because the alcohol bottles in the kitchen slowly became bigger, and emptied more often.

I knew this was all my fault. They wouldn't be fighting if I didn't even exist. It's a fricking surprise they didn't both sign me off to some orphanage since neither of them even wanted children. Dad loved kids, but he came from a not-so-great family. He even told me I was a mistake, although it wasn't until he was hiccupping and tripping over his feet from a few drinks. I was twelve when that happened.

If crying was supposed to make you feel better, why did it hurt so much in the moment? Mom and Dad were downstairs, and I hid in my room as I did every night. Everything they said was loud, and echoed through the empty house, but I couldn't understood a word they said. All I knew was that it was my fault. I couldn't fix them. I couldn't fix anything.

I sat at my desk with my blanket wrapped around my body. The tears wouldn't stop falling, and my breathing was unpredictable. I kept thinking: "This is how I die. This is how I die."

Everything hurt. I couldn't stop crying; I didn't even know what I would do if I could.

Clink.

Something hit the window. It was dark outside, but everything seemed fine. I wiped my eyes and I moved my my bed to my chair. Then it happened again. Clink. I opened my window, and stuck my head out. It was snowing, but I ignored the big, wet clumps that fell in my hair. I squinted through red eyes at everything. From Noah's window, a light came on, and he stared back at me, frowning and worried. He also had a pebble in his hand.

"Alice, are you okay?" Noah asked from his house.

"I..."

I buried my face in my hands, and pushed myself back inside. Snow was coming into my room, so I closed the glass window, and turned off my room's light. He must have seen me crying. Panic hit my heart, and I pulled my blanket around my body tighter. I looked back at the window, but his light was still on. Noah gestured at me, and then towards his room. He opened his window, and mouthed for me to do the same. I sighed, and went back towards my window.

"I'm sorry," I said once I opened my window yet again.

"Come over!" He yelled.

It was midnight. He shouldn't even be awake, and yet he.... I just couldn't understand him.