Chapter Text
“You are throwing your life away, Chloe.”
Hi to you too, o brand new day.
It’s not a particularly different morning than usual. The sun’s been up for ages, school has an empty seat with my name on it but I also find myself grumbling in response to my parental units while staring at a blank phone screen. I figure that pretending like I’m deep into something important is better than just staring up at the ceiling.
Mom sounds tired, monotone even - as if the words are more of an obligation to be stated than actual concern. What reason does she have to even give a shit? Her life has worked out fine. She’s got her shitty waitress job, a house, and she’s got the Olympic record in finding a new husband after dad died.
“If I behaved like this my old man would’ve beaten the hell out of me.”
I hate his voice. I hate his face. I hate the putrid aura that has infested the house ever since he wormed his way in here. I hate how he speaks with such righteous conviction, as if he’s doing me a service by not knocking me out cold.
“Shame he didn’t.”
I’m not even granting them a look but I’m pretty sure that Sergeant Weedle-dick is turning a nice fire red right about now. He hates it when you dare talk back to him. Insubordination he calls it, because he still insists on using every term he learned in the military like it’s some macho showcase of authority.
“Chloe, I swear I’ll-“
“Hit me? Wouldn’t be the first time. And for the record, you punch like a bitch.”
“That’s enough, the both of you.”
Mom doesn’t care. She’s so desperate to not be alone that she’ll look past her only daughter having a black eye on several occasions as long as her bedsheets stay warm. Fuck her.
“We’re both getting late for work. We’ll talk about this later. Get up and go to school, Chloe.”
The tension is thick for a couple of seconds and I dare not look past the empty blackness of my phone screen. It’s not until I hear the sound of two pairs of feet going down the staircase that I allow myself to exhale. Today was always going to be bad, but as a form of a cosmic joke it just had to start off with more shit than usual. Fuck my life. Fuck Arcadia Bay. Fuck everything.
The door downstairs slams shut and I roll out of bed to look outside of the window. The mustache branding prick and mom both get into the car. I should have peace for the next nine hours or so.
Peace is maybe a poor word for it, solace? Nah, quiet? Emptiness? That’s probably more like it. Today is the five year anniversary of a truck ramming into dad’s car. Five years since God decided that I was his own personal punching bag. I doubt mom even remembers, she’s removed all photos of dad from the house, but don’t worry. I remember. I always will, dad.
I take a quick shower and let the water wash away some of my bad mood. I emerge from the bathroom not exactly happy, but I feel like I can probably make it through today. Well, I’ll see how I feel when I go out and face the sun, but it’s a decent start. I have after all decided to make an effort for dad today because mom sure as hell won’t, and dad deserves it.
For once I actually want to be alone today. It’s not like I have a real choice. I don’t have any friends, except Max I guess, if you can call your best friend who has ghosted you for five years after moving a friend. We never officially broke off our friendship though so I’m just going to pretend that she actually cares and her phone got stolen and she and her family lost my address and they don’t have the means for an internet connection to look me up again. Hurts less that way. Yup.
I had one other friend briefly. Her name’s Rachel and she hated this town even more than me if that was even possible. She hated this town so much in fact that even though she said we’d leave here together, she left without me, without any fucking warning, taking my drug dealer with her in the process along with her fire breathing fox. To top it all off, I got one last text from her, a week after she left.
Rachel
Look me up if you’re in L.A.
Fat fucking chance of doing that you fucking traitorous whore. I’m out of trust, out of weed, out of anything good in my life. I need a fucking smoke, even though I told myself I’d try to stop cause it's getting expensive and the other dealers in town are sketchy assholes. Fucking stress. Fucking FUCK!
Some cereal will do for breakfast, and to avoid spending money since I don’t have an income I make a few sandwiches that’ll last me for a day. I stuff them all into a pink Tupperware box that reminds me of a time me and Max had a picnic by the beach. She realized she forgot it when we left and had a crying fit until I reassured her that it’s just a stupid box. We did go back to retrieve it though - only to be met by a giant fucking crab that was in the process of carrying it away. Fortunately, two tweens and the flash of Max’s camera was enough to scare it off and make it drop its bounty. Max hugged me so hard I thought my eyes were going to pop out of my skull from the encounter.
Could use a hug like that right now, Max.
The last things I pack include my baseball bat, along with a flashlight and my last pack of cigs. I’m going to the graveyard first, then the junkyard where the bat will serve multiple purposes. The first is that I’m gonna spend a decent amount of time smashing the ever living fuck out of random shit I find laying around as a declaration of hate about my life. The second is defense. It doesn’t happen too often but I know the birds over there are prone to aggression and because today is a day where everything seems to go wrong I figure that might as well happen. Isn’t that right, powers that be? The cigs are for moral support, just in case I get a panic attack or something.
“Hi, dad. Happy anniversary or whatever you wanna call it.”
I lay a single red rose on top of his grave. I wanted to do more but who the fuck figured flowers that can be found in the wild literally everywhere were so damn expensive?
The weather is alright today. Dad’s old jacket keeps the occasional wind from making me cold. I’ve been wearing it ever since he passed, slowly growing more and more into the dark brown leather over the years. It’s the closest thing I have to him ever giving me a hug again.
“I… I miss you so much. Life’s not great.”
Crying now is the last thing I want to do so I opt for quiet so I can focus on suppressing my tears. I figure if dad’s spirit or ghost or whichever supernatural form he uses to be around is here, he can probably just infer my feelings without me breaking down like a sad sack on his resting place.
I walk around the headstone and use it as a back rest as I sit down, then I close my eyes to calm myself, feeling the wind on my face and just listening for dad. No dice, just the sounds of some animals hanging around. From the sound of it, something that generates electricity, probably a big rodent or something - but I should be safe from getting a shock over here.
I wait a while longer, taking in more of the moment. It’s not like I actually believe I’d suddenly hear dad’s disembodied voice telling me everything is gonna be alright, but a girl can dream, right?
“If I just had one more day with you, I’d hug you so fucking tight and tell you I love you, over and over again. I hope you knew. I… hope you know.”
I sit here in silent contemplation for a couple of minutes. Just a girl and her dead dad things. It’s not like I was able to plan any activities for us but at least I appreciate the company in spirit. I can’t help but think I need to say something to not keep it awkward, but then I realize that I’m in the company of a corpse. I didn’t need to constantly talk with dad when he was alive, why would he be different in death? I’d be able to just rest my head against his shoulder like how I’m resting against his headstone right now and everything would be fine.
“Well, I've kept you for long enough now, dad. I bet you have parties with Elvis and other ghosts to attend to. I love you, see you around.”
I place a kiss on two of my fingers tips and push them against the top of the hard stone surface. It’s the best I can do. Time to drown out the world at the junkyard.