The house was dark, for it was still the dead of night. A silent figure crept across the carpeted floor, deft feet avoiding beer cans, potato chips, and paper littered all over the floor. The precise movement in which the feet moved suggested that their owner was quite good at this, either through practice or sheer luck. To be honest, it was probably a combination of the two.
A blaring T.V and a snoring figure could be seen on an old, worn-out couch in the living room, piles of beer cans and cigar butts scattered around his generous girth. He was an older man, gray stubble lined his cheeks and his hairline was rapidly receding. He had not at all aged gracefully, further signaled by the many wrinkles on his face. He had a dark mocha complexion, and his teeth were yellow. She didn’t like him. Not many people did.
She continued on her quest, avoiding more cans and crumbs on the floor. The kitchen lay to her right, the small room didn’t seem like much, yet again, the whole house was rather plain. Or it used to be, anyways. On the small kitchen table, poker chips and cards covered the surface like a blanket. The man was a gambler, always had been, always would be. He wasted away the money faster than she or her mother could bring it in, and it pissed her off to a degree that couldn’t be healthy.
The brass knob of the exterior door was in her grasp when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She whirled around and faced the monster at her back. His once beautiful sky-blue eyes were red and bloodshot, probably due to the alcohol he drank like water, and his yellow teeth were bared in a ghastly snarl. “Where you think you’re goin’, brat?” his voice was raspy and deep, and it scraped along her spine like a knife and made her nauseous in disgust. “Out to make more money for you to piss away, you overgrown slug.” Unlike her mother, she was not afraid to disrespect this man. In fact, she did it at every opportunity. her mother feared that he would hurt her, but he was smarter than she gave him credit. He always reigned himself back in before he did anything to her. He knew she had the means to put him in jail. If he got another strike, he would be away for a long time. So she poked the bear, so to speak.
His eyes narrowed and he raised his arm halfway up to his chest, his fist clenched tightly in a fist, but restrained himself. “You’d better watch out, bitch, lest I decide to teach you a lesson is worth jail.” He growled at her, his left hand to his lips, another beer in his clutches. He took a deep swig of the liquid and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Get lost, punk.” He turned and stumbled back to the couch.
She let out a breath she had been holding in, her lungs screaming for air. She didn’t dare breath around that asshole, lest the stench makes her sick. She grabbed her jacket, the black fabric hanging on a peg next to the front door, she grabbed her keys, resting in a small glass bowl next to the door, and gently picked a note from her mother from next to the bowl.
Love you. I hope your day is twice as good as mine. Oh, and Alexia, please don’t get into any trouble...
-Cherise.
She folded the note and stashed it in her pocket, and let out a shaky breath. “No promises, Mom.” Alexia breathed out and exited the house.
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Author's Note: Not the whole chapter, but I felt the inspiration and wanted to get some feedback on what people though... So, Thoughts?
