How did I get here?

Over the course of the last year, Reed Johnson's life has made some interesting twists and turns, and sadly, very few of them were for the better. Now, to get her away from the scenes that provoked her post-traumatic stress, her father has chosen to move the family back home to Nazareth in Pennsylvania.
Both old and new friends quickly start to make an impact on her life, and pretty soon, Reed is caught up in a web of drama while dealing with a lot of stuff herself. With an already fragile mental health, who knows how she'll end up?

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2. Chapter 1

I knew that I was the reason we had to move away from Chicago. I knew that I was the reason we had to pick up and leave, and not look back. 

Even though I tried to protest, my father and the psychiatrist had spoken, and there was nothing I could do or say that would make Daddy change his mind.

So on the 28th of September, two moving trucks were loaded with our stuff, and my brother David, Daddy and I each drove our own cars to Nazareth in Pennsylvania. 

I made the journey in my ancient, dark blue Volkswagen bus that I had inherited from David. While he hated the thing with his entire being, I adored it, and I had nicknamed it "Bluebell". 

When I was 10 years old, the family moved to Chicago from Nazareth because of a job offer my dad received. For the past 7 years we had lived there, and it had become home to me. Leaving wasn't easy, but I knew that it was for my sake. 

It was a drive of 11 hours, and we began at 11am. It was about five when we crossed into Pennsylvania, and the fading autumn sun was shining on the red, orange and brown leaves on the trees with the odd green cluster here and there. It was a beautiful scenery, and I couldn't wait to get there and take a walk.

 

Finally, I pulled up in front of the house that I recognized from my memories and the pictures from my early childhood. 

It was late, and I was tired, so my walk was postponed. We ended up leaving all our stuff in the living room except from our mattresses and bed linens. I set up my mattress in the corner of my old bedroom in the attic. It hadn't changed much. The wallpaper was the same pink with yellow dots, except it had faded over the years. The same went for the floor, the light boards had gone even lighter from the sunlight that would slant in through the windows every day. 

I loved my old room. It was right below the roof, and the walls were very short, giving room to the underside of the roof. At the end of the room, on the gable of the house, there was a big window that overlooked the whole street. 

 

My morning started with a scream, and I shot up into a sitting position. Cold sweat ran down in pearls all over my body, and dotted my face. I gulped in a big breath when I realized that I wasn't breathing and shook my head, trying to shake the vivid images out of my head. I had woken up like this every day since the incident, and eventually, Dad and David had just stopped coming in when they heard it. I lay back down and tried to shut my eyes, but every time, another memory from that time popped up, and I finally decided to just go with it and go into town to find breakfast. 

Dunkin' Donuts was the first choice, and in the basket of my bicycle, I placed three coffee's wedged in between the wall of the basket and the box of creamy, fried deliciousness, to make sure they didn't tip over. 

I came back to find that the screaming had woken up Dad and David, and that they had unpacked the bar stools to occupy their time. They sat on them at the high table in the kitchen and rubbed their sleepy eyes. 

"I bring you food. I bring you caffeine. Kneel before me peasants." I said, putting down the box and the tray.

"I love you." David mumbled and kissed the top of my head. 

 

It was a simple day. We unpacked. About half our stuff. And that was all we did. I'd missed these days, spending every minute of it with my family, while I was in the recovery center.

 

 

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