1.1
Chapter 1
Eve's POV:
*BEEP BEEP BEEP*
I awoke to the screeching sound of my alarm clock desperately trying to awake me from my deep slumber. My body fidgeted from side to side. I cringed at the loud pitch, wishing the awful sound would come to a halt. A few moments passed and the beeping still refused to cease, much to my displeasure. My hand lazily rose from the warm confines that my cover offered and made contact with the snooze button, finally ending the high frequency noise that irritated my ears. I let out a sigh of relief, knowing that now I could continue my slumber in silence.
"Wake up Eve!" My mom yelled. I guess I spoke too soon.
"Ugh!" I let out a big dramatic sigh, not wishing to leave the comfort of my king size bed. It welcomed me every night with it's big cozy covers, and begged me to stay the following morning knowing I had to go. It was a teasing object I tell you. You never wanted to leave its warm embrace.
"I mean it Eve, don't make me come up there!" My mom nagged on. I turned over facing the wall and placed my fluffy pillow over my head.
"FIVE MORE MINUTES!" I pleaded. I was desperate to get some more shut eye. Realistically, I could still lie here and sleep for a little while longer and still not be late for work. Knowing that it is sometimes a hassle to get going in the mornings is exactly why I set my alarm a bit earlier than needed. However, my mother is always a good back up plan, as she will not let me over sleep.
I could hear her walk into my room. Soon I felt my pillow being ripped from my hands. My tired looking face is now in full view. Shortly after, my blankets were pulled back, revealing my bare skin to the Antarctic weather of my room. I shivered as the cool breeze from my air conditioner collided with my uncovered body.
"No! Now get up and get ready for work!" She demanded, making her way out of my room and back downstairs. I gave up, knowing she would keep nagging me until I left my bed, got dressed, and met her for breakfast. I wrap my arms around my legs while sitting up. I just sat there for a minute letting my body adjust to the temperature and allowing myself some time to wake up. I blinked slowly, now realizing that she had taken it upon herself to flip the light switch on. The back of my hands glide over my eyes, removing any pieces of sleep that had accumulated in the corners from last night's slumber.
I yawned as my feet led me to my closet for today's outfit. My fingers scanned through the different fabrics until they landed on one of my work t-shirts. They gave us various options in colors, which I was grateful for. They are all soft, cotton shirts with the store logo "Mundello's" and various pictures of drinks, foods, and other merchandise that the shop offers. Not giving it too much thought, I just grab a purple shirt to wear for the day.
I go to my white dresser that is on the other side of the room and pull out a pair of blue jeans. I settled with neon yellow socks, seeing as though people wouldn't be able to see them due to my pants and shoes covering my ankles. Therefore, they will never know that I am not matching beneath my sneakers. Speaking of which, I threw on my black shoes then head for my bathroom.
I took my hair out of the messy bun that I had put it in late last night to keep my curls from falling onto my face. My hair is all tangled now. I sprayed it with water and began the untangling process. Once my fingers could run through it smoothly, I put some coconut curling cream in my hair and began to scrunch it to help my curls form better. I did not want to pull my hair up because I personally think that it looks better when its down.
I took the time to put on my mascara to the best of my human ability. Once I was satisfied, I moved on to eye liner. I prefer a little wing at the end. I don't like for it to be too thick, just a thin line right above my lashes.
Finally, I did my eye shadow. I decide on a light, smokey look. Most of the time I do not wear makeup, but on days that I worked I preferred to seeing as though people seemed to tip more when I did. After one last look in the mirror, I head to the kitchen for breakfast, where my mom was probably either waiting for me or still cooking. When I got half way down the stairs, the aroma of chocolate chips hit me, instantly causing my mouth to water.
"Mmm, muffins!" I called out as I sat down at the bar waiting for mom to hand me my plate with two plump muffins on it. My sister Annagrace is already sitting at the bar with her food, while scrolling through her phone. My mother sits a glass of iced water down beside my plate before sitting her breakfast down in the empty place beside me. We have a kitchen table, but we prefer eating at the bar for breakfast instead. We have not eaten at the table for breakfast since my dad left, or should I say since we left my dad.
My dad. Now that was a subject that I am not too fond of. None of us have spoken to him in years, nor do we desire to. He has caused so much pain and dysfunction in our family. It is almost safe to say I hate him. Almost, but I don't. I do not hate anyone. I simply do not wish to put my energy into such an emotion. It would only taint my character. I just choose not to give him much thought. Because if I dwell on the subject of him too long, it always leaves an ache in my chest about the way that things turned out for my once happy family. I think that it hurts more that things were once so good, then it was like a switch flipped and he turned into someone else.
Towards the end of our time with him, he was usually drunk. He had the aroma of alcohol that would linger on his clothes and his breath when he spoke. Once upon a time, he never drank, but then things changed. The alcohol consumed him, and he allowed it to. He used to be so gentle and good with us, but he slowly became abusive. He also began cursing at us, which he had never done before. I personally am not fond of cuss words. They only remind me of the way that my father would speak to us. But there was one time he made me so mad; I could not hold it in. I cussed back at him to try and give him a taste of his own medicine. It was my first time raising my voice to him, and the last.
He struck me right across my jaw and yelled "Ungrateful girl, I gave you life!" I remember the pain even to this day. I grabbed my jaw, afraid it was broken, and sobbed uncontrollably. I later found out it was not broken, but it left a massive bruise. It was not just the physical damage, he did plenty of mental damage as well. You try growing up with horrid words being tossed around at you, not even knowing what you did wrong. As you might be able to imagine, it was not so great.
I never understood why he would call me so many awful names. I was so young at the time that I did not even really understand the meaning of them. I would do all that he asked of me, which was a lot, and still he would mistreat me. I also do not understand why he would call me ungrateful. I'm happy about what I do have. I also know some people have less and are in worse condition than I am.
Do I wish that I could have a loving father who would have tucked me in at night and tell me that he loves me? Yes, I mean, who wouldn't? But I am so grateful for what I do have. He gave me and my little sister life, and if it was not for that, then my mom would have been stuck all alone with him. I cannot bare the thought of my mom having to deal with him by herself. So, no matter how rough my life gets, I would never wish that I had not been born.
After twelve years of putting up with him, my mom finally left him and moved away. I was eleven at the time they split up. They were married a year before they had me. My sister was still very young at the time. I was surprised my mom stomached being with him for as long as she did. I think she was afraid of what he might do to one of us if we got caught trying to leave him. But finally he was too far gone. He was simply too into his precious alcohol to be able to do anything about us.
I believe that is what my mom was waiting for, for him to be to the point where he is too intoxicated to remember our names, let alone what day of the week it was. My mom is a smart woman and I believe that was her plan. She had thought this out, there was no way she was going to let our lives wither away under his dominant, cruel power. I am so grateful that my mom had figured out a way to get us far from him.
She is truly such a great parent. I definitely look up to her, and she knows it. Mom told me that she would not go back in time and change the fact that she met him, because that would only mean that she would not have me and Annagrace. She would go through all the hurtful words and abuse again, just to have us.
My mother would always tell us about how he apparently used to be different. For pretty much as long as I can remember, Gertrude Goodwill (my father) was a mean man that arguably deserved hell for all the bad deeds he had done and is probably still doing. Growing up I would wonder how God could be so forgiving and how He could love and even forgive a man like my father. I had not seen him in years, nor do I want to see him.
My mother, sister, and I were getting along quite well without him. After moving to our new town, my mother met a man at work who, after some time, finally admitted to having feelings for her. It took a while, but eventually she took him up on the offer to go on a date. They have been together for quite some time now and were pretty serious. Serious enough that he now lives with us. I honestly liked the man a lot. I was skeptical of him at first, but he won me over with his kindness and loving heart. There are times that I wish that he was my actual dad, not the one whose name was put down as my father on my birth certificate. On occasion, I would call him dad. Annagrace, on the other hand, constantly referred to him as dad. She barely had any memories of our actual father, and mom's boyfriend had been around for so many years that it was easy for her to pretend that he actually was her father. His face always lights up whenever we call him dad. He truly sees us as his girls, and it warms my heart.
The man that my mom has been dating is named William. William Jay Mockingbeed to be exact. His last name has a cool ring to it. The way that he treats my mother is like an absolute princess, and I loved it. He truly is admirable, unlike my father. William is a good looking man and I have to say my mother is quite an attractive woman herself. She caught the eye of many men, yet William was the only one that caught her eye.
My mother and I often called him Will for short. I even had my own nickname for him, Wolly. Why you ask? Well, because one day we were making dinner and I accidentally called him Wolly instead of Will, and since then it just kind of stuck. He calls me Evie. He did not have a particular reason why he called me that, he just did. I was perfectly fine with that, because it made me feel like we had a sort of father and daughter bond. Eventually, the name caught on, and more people started calling me Evie as well.
William calls Annagrace Gracie. She enjoys the nickname and welcomes anything that brings their relationship closer. To her, he is practically the only father figure she has ever had. She does not have that many memories of our actual father, which is not a bad thing. I am glad that she has had a great man in her life to show her what a father should be like.
I like it when all four of us go places together; rather it was somewhere as simple as pumping gas, going to a grocery store, or going out to eat at some restaurant. It makes it seem like we are a normal family. All I ever wanted was a happy family. It did not even have to be a big one, just as long as it is a supportive family.
Now do not get me wrong, I love having my mother and sister there. They are always wonderful company, and I simply can not imagine life without them. It is just that I want to see my mother happy with a loving man that treats her right. I really hope that William is the man that will stay with her for the rest of her life. I, for one, am truly rooting for him. She deserves a man that will treat her wonderfully until the end of time.
