She looked at me and smiled. What did I ever do to deserve a smile like that? A girl like that.  She's perfectly imperfect. I think I would find it creepy if she were "perfect" because everyone has a different idea of perfect, and she would have to be a mash up of all those ideas. Which would be quite disturbing. Well, she's my idea of perfect.
       She's so "perfect" and yet most of the time, she's so unhappy. She cries a lot. It makes me sad to know that I can't do anything about it. It sucks that I'm only human. If I were like, God or the universe or something I'd give her wings to fly far far away from this town. Away from this life.
        ".......and that's how she ended up in the river and when I tried to call for help she- you're not even listening, are you?", she said, raising one eyebrow.
       "What? Yeah, of course I'm listening, Savannah.", I replied quickly.
       "Mhm", she said sarcastically, "What's on your mind?"
        "How much I really hate this place.", I tell her.
         "I hate it too, Peaches. One day we'll get out of here. You, me, and LA. How does that sound?"
         "Sure, Savvy. LA could be fun.", I responded with a smile.
         "Ooh, ooh! What about Vegas? We could be showgirls!"
I had to laugh at that one. Me, Serena Lily Thomas, "Fatty" according to the douche bags at school, as a showgirl. Ha, yeah right.
          "Um, maybe not."' I laugh again and so does she.
           "Then maybe New York. I could be a fashion designer and you can be a lawyer like you've always wanted, Peaches!", she said with the excitement of a small child gleaming in her dark blue eyes.
        "Maybe.........", I trail off.
         Savannah goes on with the millions of places we could go and the millions of things we could do. She always did have big dreams.
            She's always had big dreams and people telling her she couldn't achieve them. Just because her legs didn't work. She always said she would invent a hover chair just to show the bastards who really has the disadvantage. I believe her.
Suddenly she stopped talking and her face went dark. Her smile faded and her eyes saddened.
"Savvy? What's wrong?", I asked her worriedly.
"Who am I kidding, Serena?" She said as she put her head in her hands, "We're never gonna make it out of this place. Well you might, but I'm stuck here." She lifted her head from her hands and looked at her skinny jean covered legs. She started to cry.
            "Don't talk like that, Savvy.", I say as I stand up to hug her, "We're both getting out of here. Together."

................................................................

           When I got home I went straight to my room, as usual. I was picking out a book to read when I heard my father yell from the living room,
           "Get your ass in here and say hello!"
         Here we go. I took my sweet time walking to the living room. If he was gonna be rude then he could wait. I walked as slow as I could down the hall even though I knew if could cost me dearly. When I got to the living room dad was sitting in his chair. Yes, his chair as he calls it. I walked over and stood directly in front of him, blocking the football game on the television.
       "Hi, dad.", I say in a voice that had obviously fake enthusiasm and a chilled undertone. I had a smirk on face that I soon regretted when he stood up and grabbed me by my shirt collar. He yanked me toward him, close enough to smell the Jack Daniels and Cancer Sticks on his breath.
             "So you think you can just walk into my house without greeting me, fat ass?", he asked. I almost gagged at his stench. B.O. and booze are not exactly a good mix.
           "No, but you wanna know what I do think? I think you need a shower.", I reply with steel in my eyes. Then he slapped me. Right across the face. He then proceeded to throw me to the ground. He kicked and punched until he tired himself out, which wasn't long because he smokes three packs a day.
           You would think after all that I would be screaming and crying, but I'm used to this shit. And you would think after all that my mom, who is sitting on the couch reading a book would do something about it, but she never does.
           "Now get your ugly ass out of my living room.", he huffed and puffed. I almost laughed at how out of breath he was, but that would be a mistake. I had to make a grand exit so mistake or not, I flipped him off and then headed back to my room feeling victorious. In serious pain, but still victorious. Victorious because I showed no sign of  the immense pain that I'm feeling. Victorious because I held in my fear. Victorious because if he knew how scared I was of him, he'd beat me more often.
          I looked in the mirror that is parallel to my bed to assess the damage. Swelling, bruises and a cut. That's gonna be pretty nasty tomorrow morning, but good thing my dad allows me to wear makeup. Doesn't want anyone to see the results of his alcohol fueled rage.
           Sometimes I wonder if  my mom is blind. And deaf. And brain dead. Why doesn't she see my pain? Why does she refuse to hear my cries?