Author: K.F. Breene
Category: Vampires
Go to read content：https://readnovelfree.com/p/14833_4
“Freakin’—” I grabbed the other side and did the same thing. Little blotches of paper stayed put in all of the corners. Brad’s eyeball waved at me from the small surviving portion of the poster. “Ugh. Get. Lost. Brad!” I caught the last shred, tore that, and frowned up at the specks still holding strong.
What had I used to pin him up, infinity glue?
Wadding up the poster, I contemplated jumping to the floor like I would’ve done the last time I’d lived here. Of course, back then I’d had eighteen-year-old knees and half the weight. If I jumped right now, my knees would probably buckle and dump me on my face.
I gingerly lowered to sitting before placing my feet on the faded brown carpet and pushing up to standing.
My phone chimed as I made my way downstairs. Matt, wondering about the closing papers on our old house.
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“Yeah, I made it just fine, thanks. Doing great, couldn’t be better,” I grumbled, finding my mother at the sink again.
On the weekends she usually made a large breakfast, but it was only Tuesday, which meant she’d placed a cereal box, milk, and a bowl out on the table for my father. Given the bowl was empty but used, I suspected he’d finished up and would soon be heading to work. Or out to tinker with his project cars.
But as I stood at the entrance to the kitchen, the toilet flushed in the downstairs bathroom. Clearly the old man was still here.
I turned toward the bathroom, intending to use it next, when the door opened and too much skin stepped out.
“What the—” I covered my eyes and jerked my head away.
“Ladies do not swear,” my father said in disapproval even though I hadn’t gotten to the swear word.
“Fathers do not wander around the house without clothes on when their grown daughters are home, Dad! What are you doing?”
My mother turned from the sink, only then turning off her music. “What’s the matter—oh for the love of… Pete, put some clothes on!” She sighed and shook her head in commiseration with me. “Two months ago, he just up and decided that clothes in the morning were causing him anxiety.”
“I didn’t say they were causing me anxiety! I said they cut off the morning circulation to my begonias, and that caused me to feel a little tight in my chest, that’s all. Not enough circulation.”
“Anxiety,” my mom said, clearly annoyed.
“Not anxiety,” my dad replied, clearly just as annoyed.
“Awesome, great, sound logic—can you put some clothes on now? And use a towel on the dining room chair, please? I don’t want to sit on the same seat as your exposed…begonias,” I said.
“Jacinta Evans, when you speak to someone, you look them in the eye,” my father scolded.
“Pete, you have your testicles out. Of course the girl is going to look away!” My mother turned around, muttering, “I don’t blame her, quite frankly. You need to go to the doctor. I know those things sag, but it looks like you have a medical condition.”
“I can’t do this. I can’t…” I took two deep breaths, ignoring my parents’ continued bickering, and followed the wall to the bathroom. I didn’t want to risk looking around. There were many things a person would rather die without seeing, and the sagging bare backside of one’s father was at the top of the list.
The small downstairs bathroom stopped me short. An enormous, obviously fake tree stood in the corner. Its bright, unrealistically green leaves stretched out over the counter toward the sink and reached above the toilet. The toilet seat had been left up, showing the disgusting underbelly of both the seat, with its many dark cracks, and the pee-sprinkled edge of the bowl. A large digital painting with a jumping dolphin took up more of the wall than was artistically pleasing, not to mention those pictures hadn’t been in vogue since the early nineties. It was clear my dad had been offered some freebies.
My dad never passed up freebies.
I had to kick the seat down so as not to touch stale pee, ignore the plastic leaves poking me in the side of my face, and speed up this soul-searching process. I needed a new place and a new job, fast!“How’s it going?” my oldest and best friend Diana asked later that day with a sympathetic smile. Her wire-rimmed glasses had a smudge on the side that she didn’t seem to notice. She cupped her hands around her steaming mug. It was September, yes, but it was also California. She was the only person I knew who drank hot coffee no matter the weather or time of day. She was a true fanatic.
A few people dotted the seats in the independent coffee shop, all hipsters with weird hair, a lot of piercings, and surprisingly hushed tones. They were young and looked ridiculous, but at least they were respectful.