What if you had the ability to write? What if you couldn't control the story you created? And what if, the magic kingdom your hands are so keen on writing about turned out to be real?
Alessandra is used to the way things are. Life isn't great, but i...
"Not yet. Come over later if you find anything. We could switch; I've already finished the biology homework".
"Great! Thank you".
She got home before she knew it, and slowly opened the door. She stretched the moment; she didn't want to go inside.
"Alessandra?" She heard Atticus call, and the moment was gone. She stepped in.
He was sitting on the couch, like he always was the couple of days after a test. He was waiting for her, and her results.
She remembered when she got assigned to him. He had more hair than he did now, his bones weren't showing so much, and he actually looked his age. Now he looked way older than he actually was. She had no idea what he could be dealing with, but whatever it was, it hadn't left him and it was getting worse. He would sometimes come home drunk, or leave the ashtray out, and all Alessandra could do was hope he wouldn't explode that night.
He had never hit her, but hell, he could get aggressive.
"How was school?" he asked with a smile. Those were the smiles she feared the most, when she didn't know what he was smiling about.
"It was ok", she said, moving to get something to drink from the kitchen. Anything to stop looking at him.
"Have you got your economy results yet?"
"Yes".
"And?" There was one thing on top of Atticus' priority list: her grades. "If I'm going to go through all the trouble of bringing you up and paying for your education, I'm going to make sure you end up in a good college" he would say.
Followed by her being a decent person and never doing anything to put Atticus in a position were they would take Alessandra away from him.
"I did fine".
"Fine?"
She stayed quiet. He stood up from the couch, and he turned to face her. What was left of his long, thin, light hair was in his face, and his bony fingers tried to get it out of his eyes to look at her. He focused his grey eyes, which just looked colorless and drained, on her.
"What have we talked about, girl? You need to do more than fine to get a decent job".
"And leave sooner", she knew he meant but left unsaid. Atticus was still a mystery to Alessandra. He acted like he wanted her out of his life as much as she wanted him out, yet, he did everything he could to keep Alessandra as his protégé.
Maybe he wanted to keep his "respectable citizen" image.
"I know".
"I don't want you to know, I want you to do".
She pulled everything out of the bag and started cooking. Her guardian had never cooked, nor he was ever going to. Sophie's family had had to teach her.
"You have to learn to take care of yourself if you want to get anywhere in life".
Not long after, she heard Atticus go out, and later at night, heard him come back, the crashing of things as he stumbled upstairs drunk. She imagined the look on everyone's faces if they knew of Atticus' habits. If they knew how much he smoked or how much he could drink on a bad night. Would they still picture him as an example? An honorable man?
Probably.
She knew it was time to go to sleep.
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