His stormy grey eyes pierced into my green orbs. It was evident that he was drunk, and that was mainly because his eyes were darker than normal. I was curious to what alcoholic drink was flowing throughout his body. One quick sniff and I could tell that scotch was taking over his veins. This wasn’t the first time I’ve experienced this side to him, but right now I needed to finish my homework.
“Clarke,” he slurred and swayed, close to falling.
“Yes Dad?” I questioned with a hint of attitude in my voice, but he couldn’t tell through the haze.
“I’m going to leave,” he stated and just like that he was out the door.
I walked up the tan, carpeted stairs of our Victorian home near the UNC campus. My feet felt like fifty pound weights caused by …show more content…
My eyes traveled around the room, and they stopped upon seeing the new figure. She was sitting 3 rows back from the front, but that’s not the only thing that stood out. I took into detail everything about her. Her thin hands clutched a copy of The Catcher in the Rye, but the way her hands were fascinated me. Her index, middle, and ring fingers supported the spine of the book while her pinky and thumb split the pages open. Furthering my gaze, I noticed how sandy and wavy her hair was and the intricate flow of it. She was sporting black ripped jeans with a olive green ‘Thrasher’ sweatshirt. Over the sweatshirt was a black bomber jacket to top it all …show more content…
“Mrs. Butler told me you were talking to a girl named Lauren?” he was hesitant in his answer.
“Well, if we’re being honest here, it’s none of your business whom I speak to,” I stated and made my way out the door.
I sped out to my car, and stopped upon arriving. I threw my bag into the backseat and slouched into my seat. I sat there for a moment before starting the car up and leaving.
Finally, after a 10 minute drive, I pulled into the cement driveway to my house. I texted the blue eyed girl my address and pulled my keys back out. I arrived at the door and located my house key. What I stumbled upon once I opened the door was my mother. As always, she had a bottle of vodka clutched into her hands. I went up the stairs and all I could think of was Lauren.
Approximately fifteen minutes later the obnoxious doorbell chimed. My feet moved at such a pace that before I knew it I was downstairs. However I had not beaten my mother to the door. The minute I got downstairs, I saw my mother with her vodka, and Lauren awkwardly standing outside.
“And who in God’s name are you?” My mother demanded of the girl outside.
“Clarke’s friend, ma’am,” she perfectly, and confidently
“Clarke,” he slurred and swayed, close to falling.
“Yes Dad?” I questioned with a hint of attitude in my voice, but he couldn’t tell through the haze.
“I’m going to leave,” he stated and just like that he was out the door.
I walked up the tan, carpeted stairs of our Victorian home near the UNC campus. My feet felt like fifty pound weights caused by …show more content…
My eyes traveled around the room, and they stopped upon seeing the new figure. She was sitting 3 rows back from the front, but that’s not the only thing that stood out. I took into detail everything about her. Her thin hands clutched a copy of The Catcher in the Rye, but the way her hands were fascinated me. Her index, middle, and ring fingers supported the spine of the book while her pinky and thumb split the pages open. Furthering my gaze, I noticed how sandy and wavy her hair was and the intricate flow of it. She was sporting black ripped jeans with a olive green ‘Thrasher’ sweatshirt. Over the sweatshirt was a black bomber jacket to top it all …show more content…
“Mrs. Butler told me you were talking to a girl named Lauren?” he was hesitant in his answer.
“Well, if we’re being honest here, it’s none of your business whom I speak to,” I stated and made my way out the door.
I sped out to my car, and stopped upon arriving. I threw my bag into the backseat and slouched into my seat. I sat there for a moment before starting the car up and leaving.
Finally, after a 10 minute drive, I pulled into the cement driveway to my house. I texted the blue eyed girl my address and pulled my keys back out. I arrived at the door and located my house key. What I stumbled upon once I opened the door was my mother. As always, she had a bottle of vodka clutched into her hands. I went up the stairs and all I could think of was Lauren.
Approximately fifteen minutes later the obnoxious doorbell chimed. My feet moved at such a pace that before I knew it I was downstairs. However I had not beaten my mother to the door. The minute I got downstairs, I saw my mother with her vodka, and Lauren awkwardly standing outside.
“And who in God’s name are you?” My mother demanded of the girl outside.
“Clarke’s friend, ma’am,” she perfectly, and confidently