Coming Home

All my life I've been defined as something. Almost, like I've been placed in never ending categories.

When I was small, I was defined as the bastard child who was deemed not good enough to have a dad. When I reached high school, I was defined as the freaky, genius girl, who struck oil in a land mine when she began dating someone who had a lavish occupation. Now, at nineteen, I'm known as the sad, pathetic girl, who's boyfriend disappeared and then lost her brother in a car accident.

I don't know what's next. If there is anything else I can be classified as.

I do know that I'm sad. That I can't make that seem poetic-- and I don't know how to compose it in a song. I'm sad, and I think I have been for a while.

I haven't gotten any better. Maybe it seemed that way. But the hard truth is that this-- whatever I'm feeling, hasn't gotten any better and I don't think it ever will.

They once told me I was old fashioned. Simple, they explained. I think, what they meant, was that I'm plain, old fashioned, depressed. Like, the chemicals in my brain have gone hazy and are stuck on the one emotion.

"You can't watch--" dad narrows his eyes at the screen and plops down next to me. "True life, all day." He continues.

"But I can," I divulge. "I've got them recorded."

"Presley," dad sighs.

"It's all good," except it's not, and maybe me saying it is, will somehow make it come true. "Dad, why can't I just watch tv? I'm not hurting anyone and I'm out of my room."

"Because you're finally home after months and you're spending it, sulking on the couch, talking to yourself."

"At least I'm talking. Would you rather I turn mute?"

"I'd rather you loose the attitude."

"What attitude?"

"Presley," he warns. I swallow and frown. "You may be nineteen but I am still your father and I will punish you."

"For what?"

"For being a know it all."

"S'not my fault I'm smart." I shrug.

"Presley Jude Summers," my mom hisses as she walks in. "Apologize." She orders. She blocks my view of the television, her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows raised and challenging.

"For what?"

"Don't make me ask you again."

I turn with a huff and mumble. "I'm sorry."

"Can you say it like you actually mean it?"

"But then that'd be lying," I reply with wide eyes.

Dad shoots me an icy glare and stands. "What is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem, dad." Or maybe I do. I'm not sure. Dad and I have been arguing since I first arrived . And that was two days ago. It started off small. A jab here and there, and then it proceeded into talking back, and cracking jokes. And now. Well, now I think I'm taking things to a new level and my dad is starting to loose all control. I may actually be the only nineteen year old who will get smacked around and sent to their room without supper.

"For God's sake-- you're nineteen, Presley. We've already gone through the whole-- 'I'm a rebellious kid and I know better than my parent's'--faze. What is going on with you?"

"Mom, please make him stop talking to me." Mom's eyes widen and a small gasp leaves my dad's throat. Okay...

"Go to your room," she whispers. But she doesn't say it in her, 'I'm joking, this is funny,' voice. No. She says it in her, 'say one more thing, I dare you child. One more thing and you won't make it to your next brithday,' voice. "Get out of my face," she hisses, when she doesn't see me move. I scramble up and run to my room.

I really do think she would have slapped me if I hadn't of run. I really do.

I press my ear against my door and listen as my parents bicker about me.

"What is wrong with your daughter?"

"Oh, so now she's my daughter?" Mom sounds amused. Though a second ago, she sounded murderous.

"Steve, calm down."

"Calm-- you want me to calm down? My kid just asked you to get me to shut up! She has never done that before! Even when she was going through puberty or whatever you women go through!" Dad exasperates.

Technically I did not ask mom to shut him up. Just to get him to stop talking to me. There's a big difference.

They say a lot of other things, but their voices grow soft and turn into jumbled whispers. After a second or two I give up and fall onto my bed, looking for my phone. Once my desired device has been located I press Louis' name and hit call, (and Louis should be grateful I'm keeping up my promise) also it's like three a, where he is right now, so it's an added bonus to be waking him up.

"Hello?" Louis finally answers after three rings.

"Oh good. You're up," I cheer. It's evident he was sleeping. But it should also be evident that I don't care. And the thought makes me smile. Being able to call Louis and not care. It feels so normal. "How much are you missing me? A lot?"

"Right now, I wish I could reach over and slap that cute little grin you have on right now."

I smirk. "You're the one who wanted me to call." I remind him.

"I do want you to call, muppet." A voice (and I'm assuming it's Eleanor's) demands he shut up or get out. And by the shuffling, I'm assuming he's leaving, before he is beaten. "I hope you're happy. El's just kicked me and made me leave."

"I'm well," I joke. I'm also in deep shit with my parents. But let's not mention that.

"Okay," Louis sighs. "How are you doing over there? Any cute ladies?"

"You have a girlfriend!"

"Not for me! For you!" He exasperates. Okay?

"I--what?"

"Just in case you want to experience new things, pretzel. I'll love you either way. Any lifestyle you choose."

"You're so fucking weird." I laugh. "How are you? How's being famous?"

"I'm good. Quite bored now that you're away. And fame is a total ride. M'trying to keep El from the rumors though. They're getting ridiculous." He pauses, and then continues. "She told me she finally told you about the whole Ben thing...she's afraid you hate her."

"I don't," and I honestly do not hate Eleanor. She didn't plan to hurt Ben, even if she did. I'm a bit wary about her now...but I don't hate her. "Lou--it's just weird, you know? Having El-bell tell me she was the one who outed Ben. I know she didn't mean to, but--"

"Maybe when you get back you can talk to her?"

"Yeah," I lean back on my bed and sigh.

"What happened?" It still amazes me well Louis knows me. How he can tell I'm feeling heavy and confused simply sighing. We were apart for years and it's terrifying how almost nothing has changed.

"I think I've severely pissed of my dad."

"How? Steve is the most patient man I know and you've only been away for two days. How did you already piss him off?"

"I don't know..." I dismiss.

"Oh you know exactly what you did."

"I just asked mom to get him to stop talking to me."

"You what?" Louis chortles. He giggles over the phone and I can hear his eyes rolling. "That is a whole new level of disrespect, love."

"Then why are you laughing?"

"Because it sounds hilarious."

"He's freaking out," I sigh. "Aren't I a little too old for him to be so worried about me not wanting to talk to him?"

"From the stories I've heard--and your mum does tell a lot of stories--you've never done anything like that before. Did he do something? Say something?"

"No, he was just being annoying."

"Presley, it's been two days. You haven't seen your dad in months. How can he already be on your nerves?"

"I don't know," it's not that he's on my nerves...it's that--well, I don't know what it is. I just really don't want to be around my dad right now. It makes me an awful person, because I love my dad. I fucking love him to bits, but right now, at this very point in time, I don't know if I can be around him. "When they came and picked me up from the airport--as soon as I saw him, I wanted to get back on the plane and go back."

"I thought you were 'daddy's princess?'"

"Okay that's not the point right now, you twit."

Louis snorts and right now he's probably shaking his head. "Shut up, you tramp."

Before I can say something back--and I've thought of a really funny joke, My mom saunters in my room with a displeased and nervous expression. "Hey, Lou I have to go now. I think my mom's about to hit me. I'll talk to you soon."

"Yeah, I would too. Tell me how it goes-- if you know, you survive. Try not to make your dad cry."

"Shut up, Lou." I laugh into the phone. The line clicks and I'm left facing my mom and her wrath with a heavy heart and a million jumbled thoughts. And well. Shit.

"Are you upset with daddy?" She gets right to the point. "What was all that about?" She asks, voice hesitant, almost like she's trying not to set me off. Again. I wish I knew how to explain what I've been feeling. But I think it's almost impossible to get her to see a glimpse of what is running around in my head. "Why are you being so rude to him?" She changes her question.

"I'm not upset with dad," I explain. "I just...dad, and me--I...I don't know how to explain it." She wrinkles her nose in thought and looks down at me.

"Are you upset he wanted you to come home sooner?"

"I'm not upset with him," I try. "I'm not trying to hurt his feelings, mom. I love dad and I respect him--"

"The way you acted down stairs shows something different." She cuts me off.

"I know," I groan. I acted like a brat. I know I did. I just don't know why I did. "I don't know mom. I'm feeling a shit ton right now. Especially towards dad."

"Well explain them to me." She sighs.

I want to laugh at her request. It's simple, but it's fucking hard.

"I don't know how," I stress. "I guess, the way I'm feeling is making me act out? I don't know mom."

She sits at the edge of the bed and pats my knee. It's such a mom thing to do. "You haven't seen daddy since Caleb's funeral, sweetheart. Whatever you're feeling is all you. It's not dad. He hasn't done anything. So until you figure it out, you have to apologize to him. You hurt his feelings, Presley. He's your father. He deserves all of your respect."

"I know," I scrub at my face and sit up. "I'll apologize, just give me some time to think."

"Okay." She gets up and nods. "Come out when you're ready. But try to be pleasant when you do. I'd hate to have to spank you at nineteen."

"Yes mom." She walks out. I know she's disappointed at my lack of explanation. I don't have much to offer them. I'm a mess and they're my parents. That's about as close as I can think to right now.

My phone buzzes on my thigh and my heart drops to my stomach, flipping on its way down.

Hazard: Missing you brown eyes. -H. Xx

The contact name makes me smile. Harry's contact name was never 'Harry' on my phone. No, that was too plain. He was a hazard from the start, because I had never been in love before him. Because I always knew he'd be hazard to my heart and I know he still is.

I guess, I can still be classified as many things. Today--today I was a brat. Tomorrow I may be a guilty daughter who needs to apologize. Right now, I'm a confused nineteen year old who misses her brother and wishes she had someone to hug.

Notes

My dad and I got in trouble for eating eighty chicken nuggets and then throwing up. My mom doesn't understand us? Someone adopt me. Omg.