Nofie

True Believers

My knuckle is swollen because I was punching Brett and I
hit something metal in his jacket pocket by accident. We
went home again when the sun started to come up, the
parking lot got quiet all of a sudden. All of us knew we
should have been home hours ago but since when do we care?
Three hours of my life were spent scraping scotch tape
off my bedroom walls with a razor blade yesterday, with my
mother and her boyfriend there helping me. I haven't spent
that long in confined quarters with them in years. Now I
remember why I don't anymore. We're trying to sell this
house, but I don't really care. I don't like it here
anyway, I'm moving to New Paltz with everyone in September.
I'm so tempted to just throw on a pair of jeans and a
sweatshirt and get the fuck out of here right now, ditch
the rest of the work I'm supposed to be helping them with.
I know I can't, I'd never hear the end of it. That useless
feeling is creeping up on my again. My sixteen year old
sister is stalking around the house bitching about one
thing or another, there's always something for her to whine
about. I asked her once, "Aren't there much more important
things you could be concerning yourself with? Who the fuck
cares if someone ate all your chips?" She steals things
from the kitchen and writes her name all over it so the
rest of us won't eat it. She takes clothing from me and
then tried to trade me for things she doesn't want, if I
say no she'll take her clothing back and keep mine. She's
the epitome of selfishness, pettiness, bitterism, the bitch
prototype.