Greg's home from work, and I do my damnedest to stay out of his way. I've already made dinner, and the apartment's clean as it's going to be. If I manage to stay out of his way until he goes to sleep, I may not even have such a bad night. God knows I could use it. Huh. God. I'm actually pretty sure God doesn't know anything, seeing as how he's never done a damn thing for me no matter how much I pleaded.

But on the bright side, it's the beginning of the month, so I might actually be able to beg some lunch money out of Greg tomorrow morning. Even if it's just a couple bucks, it may last me a week or so. Thank the mighty bees for reduced lunches and other such things. Like school. Gotta love school. Because eight hours of (mandatory) boredom beats the hell out of spending 3 hours tiptoeing around before getting the shit beat out of me anyway and then spending 6 hours knocked out on the floor any and every day of the week.

"Get me a beer," my father orders from the living room. So much for staying out of the way.

"Yes, sir." I say, obediently getting him a beer from the kitchen and pointing it away from my face as I open it. I hate the smell of the stuff. I wonder why.

I hand him the bottle and retreat back into my room. Maybe he'll stop after just one tonight. Yeah. Maybe he'll forgive me for killing my mother too.