George pov

I lay on my bed the next day. It was Saturday and I'd decided to spend it here, putting my whole life into perspective. 

I had two sisters. 

Lavender was my older sister. She was at college most of the time. She wanted to be on the campus as much as possible so she could focus on her classes and be social at the school. 

Or just so that she didn't have to be around me. 

Eve was young. She was at daycare all day until 4 in the evening. She didnt see me much either. Maybe that was for the best. 

I felt toxic. 

My mom was working most of the time. She didnt see me much either. 

I knew that if she did, she'd be disgusted. 

She had all the reason to be out most of the time as my dad didn't work. He was out all the time. He'd practically left us. It started with him getting a new job. He had a mean-ass boss who came home for a business dinner once. 

She was manipulative as fuck. After that dinner, Dad stopped coming home as much until one day, early in the morning, he stumbled into my room high as hell, telling me to take care of my sisters and mother. 

We didnt see him again after that. We knew he came home every now and then because his clothes kept going missing and so did food in the kitchen, but he always did it when we were out of the house. 

It was hurting Mom, I knew. 

It was hurting Lavender. 

Eve didnt even know him. She thought that she didn't have a father. 

At school, I had friends. But they had lives. 

Quackity had two boyfriends, Nick and Karl. He went on holiday every other month for a week to Mexico to help his Dad with their family franchise, Las Nevadas, which took up a whole street. 

Nick had a job at a gun range and volunteered at the fire station. He supported his friends in everything they did, and provided his significant others love. 

Karl was loving and cared for many animals, but he got a duck with Quackity when they were 11 and still figuring out that they had crushes on each other. He was the comfort friend, always there to give advice. 

Clay was strong. He was the backbone to the group, he kept us all together. When we were all falling out, he made it a tradition to get together every Friday, to eat junk on his couch and watch whatever movie was streaming. Nick and Karl would go on a walk to a nearby fast-food restaurant, Clay and I would set out blankets and stuff, and Quackity would come up with a way to prank the two others. 

Clay worked a job at the hospital at the reception desk, though he was only 15, to help provide for his large family, but he always made it seem like he had all the time in the world if one of us needed him, or just wanted to spend time with him. He put us all first. Equally. 

I had nothing. 

I sometimes wondered if I had been a better son, would my dad still be around, instead of creeping around the house when no one was there. It didnt make any of us feel safe. 

Did he care how paranoid that made us all at night?

I had always been teased by my classmates for it. For not having a dad. Some offered fake pity, and some taunted me with insults to my mother. My friends made it a little better. Helped me forget. 

I hated that I wasn't enough to pique his interest in the future of his family. If I'd taken up a sport early, would he have been excited to see if I would do it proffessionally? 

I hated myself. I hated that I was supposed to be the man of the house now, and I was shut in my room, sobbing quietly in my room, my tears splashing extra water into the pools of concern that was my older sister's blue eyes. 

But I guess no one would care. 

They shouldn't.

My dad didnt care. If he did, he would've stuck around. Not for me, but at least for my sisters. Eve was 1 years old when he left, and Lavender was just finishing high school. 

But he didnt want to see his children grow. Didn't want to be there when his wife got old. 

I had so many questions. 

Had. 

Now I feel numb at his name, yet still so enraged. 

I should've given up caring and wondering a while ago. He was never that invested in our lives before, why should it hurt any more that he wasn't there a little more than usual?

I don't feel anything, but I want to.

I want to feel mad that he isn't here to help me when I'm feeling broken and worthless. 

I want to feel sad when his memories are stuck in the plaster that holds the wallpaper over this house, over the places he touched.

I want to feel broken when I think about how he ran away from me. 

But I don't think I can. 

The only thing I dont want to feel are his memories that are put in front  of me every single day. 

I wanted to forget.