The soles of my beat up converse crunched in the gravel of the short drive, full of potholes and uneven in every aspect of the word. My backpack was weighed down with the homework that I was sure wouldn’t get done until at least eleven this night. My blue bangs were growing to cover my eyes, and I never took off my forest green hoodie. I was known for that hoodie. That was how my friends picked me out from the crowds in the middle school hallways. That was the only way I stood out.

I carefully skirted the various potholes, and stepped onto the asphalt. I didn’t look anywhere but the ground as I picked up my pace. Just like any other day, I quickly walked past Isabelle’s house. Although she's not home yet, I'd rather be home right now. The sagging chain link fence of my yard came into view, and I suddenly felt ashamed all over again. Me, the overweight girl in worn clothes, living in the faded blue house with a dirt yard. Whatever sparse vegetation that used to live here had been torn by the roots because of Mom's plans to redecorate, leaving only uneven muddy ground in Portland's winter rains.

Though the door was closed, I could still hear the shrieks and chaos in the house.

I trudged up the drive, my stained converse wishing to go somewhere else. I took the two steps of my porch as slowly as I possibly could, dreading what was in the house. I put a hand on the rotting wooden column of the porch, cringing when I felt paint chip onto my hand. With just a quick rub, your hand would be full of jagged splinters and flecks of white paint.

I took in a deep breath, and braced myself. The heavy wooden door squeaked on its hinges when I let myself in. The lock was broken, so I had no need for a key. Just as I predicted; it was absolute chaos. A sea of clothes in the living room, and trash floating atop, with fruit flies swarming the pile of dishes in the kitchen sink... Dayne was chewing on who knows what, and Daemion was running around the house in circles while banging a stick against anything within his reach. My mom however, was sprawled across the couch filling out some sort of paperwork. She didn't look up at my entrance.

“How was school?” she asked, shuffling the papers a bit. I thought for a moment, then shrugged. Nothing notable happened today. Already used to my non-talkative nature, she took that as the end of our painfully short conversation; If you could even call it that.

I walked over the clothes, not knowing what was clean and what was dirty, and not caring. I’m sure they’re all dirty by now. I know that this is not normal by anyone else’s standards, but this is my norm. I’d heard both my aunt and grandma tell horror stories of spotting a roach or two, but I’ve never personally seen one. Sure, we had that huge maggot infestation last summer, quite a few mice, and fleas hopping around on my bed, but I’ve never seen a c***roach….

I didn't want to stay down here any longer, so I set off towards my door. Something crunched beneath my foot, but I didn't bother to look down. It obviously wasn't valuable if it was down on the floor. I finally made it to the door that led to the stairwell. It was painted white, and stood out against the candy apple red of the living room. Turning the antique doorknob as far as it would go, it jiggled a bit before it allowed me entrance. I had to pull hard to get the door to open amongst the clothes, but I managed. More clothes and random objects made their home at the end of the rickety stairwell.

The old door creaked shut behind me. The stairs that led to the second floor were almost as steep as a ladder, and creaked ominously with the signs of age and rot. Despite this, I held no fear of them. After all, they were the only way to access my haven. At the top of the stairs were two rooms and a middle space. To the right was a room full of toys, a slanted hot pink ceiling, and a single mattress. No frame; just a mattress. To my left, my own room. While it had no door, that was only a minor problem compared to all the things it does for me. It houses me. It entertains me. It hides me.

Pretty purple walls match the trim of my zebra pattern bed set, the queen mattress taking up most of the space. I could only walk comfortably in one strip of the room, since the ceiling was the slant of the roof. I didn't mind this though, as I spent most of my time lounging on my bed. I dropped my backpack on the bare floor, and turned the radio on.

The hum of the heaters kept my room at a comfortable temperature, being significantly warmer than the other parts of the house. Anyone else would start sweating in minutes, but I had grown used to it. I would rather live in a warm attic than in a cold attic. Especially in the winter time.

Like the rest of the house, both dirty and clean clothes littered the plain floor, though not nearly as bad as it was downstairs. For hours, I set to distract myself. Of what, I wasn't quite sure exactly. I had the radio on almost constantly. To drown out anything else, I changed it occasionally. Sometimes Spanish, classical, oldies, or even just settling for the crappy music of my own generation.

I also read. I read, and read, and then read some more. Ebooks, physical books, magazines. Non-fiction, fantasy, romance. I read as much as I could. My eyes burned from staring at the pages, bleached white from the fluorescent light that lit my room. My digital clock told me it would be dinner soon, so I marked my page and got up from my bed. I headed back to the cluttered stairs, and sped down them.

As I had predicted, the sound of boiling water was coming from the kitchen. I didn't talk. There was nothing to say. I simply sat at the large table, careful not to touch the crusted surface. Dry food of meals of the past clung to the glass, perfectly clear against the dirty white tiles of the floor. It was rarely clean, and it never stays clean either. A 1-year-old and a 6-year-old made any attempts at cleanliness  impossible and short lasting.

A chipped ceramic plate of macaroni was set down in front of me. I blinked, then came to my senses.

“Thank you for the food,” I said quietly, then dug in. It was obviously from a box, and stuck to the roof of my mouth, but food is food. I know how much Mom struggles to even get us this much, and have learned to never be wasteful. Wasted food equals lost money and effort, and brings back the flies. I'm perfectly content with the fruit flies being our only guests for the moment.

I finished before any of the others have gotten half way, and rinsed the plate and fork to be put in the strainer. Our dishwasher has never worked, so we have to hand wash everything, which leads to the usual mountain of dirty dishes. The sink stinks, and I'm pretty sure there's something rotting down the drain, but there's nothing we can really do about it.

Daemion bent over the table, swinging his legs back and forth before loudly saying,“mom! I bet that I'll--that I'll beat you at a race!” He's always been competitive about the strangest things…

“Oh yeah? Well if like to see you try!” Mom said, humoring him. They enthusiastically started eating their noodles, and Daemion proclaimed himself as the winner.  It was the little things like this that made her think that this might get better.

Just then, I heard the muffled sound of a car door slam closed outside. S***! I made a beeline outta there, my frenzied efforts doubling as the sound of swearing got closer. I practically sprinted up the stairs and flopped onto my bed just as I heard him slam the front door open. He's almost never in a good mood, so I have to make my escape quickly before he comes in.

I huffed, trying to calm my pounding heart. It was too early to go onto the roof, and he'd yell at me for being up there if he caught me. Always goin’ on about how I could loose the roofing, or how I'd break through the roof with a single misstep. I'd contemplated jumping off more than a few times, but I doubt a fall from that height would do any real damage, so it's not like I'm afraid of a little shingle.

I turned back to my book, and let my mind wander. Hours passed by, and I decided it was late enough that I should start my homework now lest I fall asleep again. A quick once-over showed that it was all easy, but tedious.

Yelling started from downstairs for who knows what now, and I casually turned the volume of the radio up, mostly drowning out the voices. I hate yelling. Can't stand it. I flinch every time, and my stomach would twist painfully, unease coiling in my gut. Like now.

I waited for it to stop, too wound up to read right now. A door slammed shut, and the house trembled with the force. The car angrily backed out of the driveway, then peeled out. Ominous silence was all that was left in his wake.

Hesitantly, I crept down the stairs, being careful to avoid the creaks. I don't know what started the fight, but I needed to see if he'd broken anything again. We can't exactly afford to have another hole in the wall…

The door creaked open, giving away my position, and I froze. Mom was huddled against the front door, a sobbing mess. In all my life, I've only seen her cry a handful of times. She'd always have something to laugh or smile about, and to see her like this was just…….wrong.

Taking slow, deliberate steps toward her shaking form, I slid down to sit next to her. I felt so awkward. I didn't even know how to deal with my own emotions, let alone deal with someone else's.

“Are…..are you okay?” I cringed. Stupid! She's obviously not okay! She didn't answer, so I asked something else. “Wanna tell me what happened...?” She shook her head and sucked in a shuddering breath.

“No…I'm okay. Thanks, Ray.” She sniffled, and didn't look at me. I felt like this was probably the strangest role-reversal I've ever heard of. I just sat there silently, not believing her one bit.

I hesitantly slid my arm around her, then gently pulled to shift her weight so she was leaning on my shoulder. And we stayed like that 'til morning.