Seriously?
I had just sorted things out at the bank. I was going to sign the deal on Tuesday. And then it turned out the owner wants all the money "in cash", as she says, by which she actually means "not borrowed from a bank". Why the hell this matters to her, I don't know, but effectively it means the only source I can borrow it from are my parents. Coming up with that kind of money just like that is hard, if not impossible, for them. I understand that. They could have just said that.
But then Dad said it's "not that urgent". He asked me why I even need it and I listed some reasons, including how I'm sick of living in constant fear of what horrors will be unleashed on me on the nearest weekend (cue shitty music from upstairs) and whether they'll even bother to wait for the weekend this time. He thinks that's a silly reason. Like I'm a little girl who wants a pony but is too stupid to understand Daddy can't afford it. Seriously. It's not a matter of if but when some asshole will fall on my head through a hole in the ceiling. I spend all my weekends waiting for the weekend to be over. That's pretty much all I'm capable of doing between Friday evening and Monday morning. In fact, on some weeks I start waiting for the weekend to be over before it even starts. I'm scared to come home, especially on Fridays. I haven't really rested in ages. I've barely been able to function for the last year or so. But who cares about some silly thing I want? Like being able to live?
I have to do something. I have to get out of here.
But then Dad said it's "not that urgent". He asked me why I even need it and I listed some reasons, including how I'm sick of living in constant fear of what horrors will be unleashed on me on the nearest weekend (cue shitty music from upstairs) and whether they'll even bother to wait for the weekend this time. He thinks that's a silly reason. Like I'm a little girl who wants a pony but is too stupid to understand Daddy can't afford it. Seriously. It's not a matter of if but when some asshole will fall on my head through a hole in the ceiling. I spend all my weekends waiting for the weekend to be over. That's pretty much all I'm capable of doing between Friday evening and Monday morning. In fact, on some weeks I start waiting for the weekend to be over before it even starts. I'm scared to come home, especially on Fridays. I haven't really rested in ages. I've barely been able to function for the last year or so. But who cares about some silly thing I want? Like being able to live?
I have to do something. I have to get out of here.