THE DOCTOR'S MUSE

LISA POV

I'm peering into total darkness when I hear my alarm's obnoxious beeping noise for the first time. The moon, which only just manages to shine through my window, is the only source of dull illumination in my room. I sigh and hide my face back in my pillow as I prepare for yet another day of school.

The tremendous feeling of tiredness that comes with being a senior in high school doesn't seem to go away either. I don't seem to get any more sleep, and I still feel drowsy.

I squint to get the sleep out of my eyes, comb my hair, and sigh when I reach a knot.

"Ow." I mutter and sigh before rising to my feet.

The brightness is turned all the way up, so as I start to feel around for my phone, I almost go blind. My typical day as a senior in high school starts soon after five in the morning. My room is lighted when I walk over and turn on the wall switch, forcing me to strain in order to see.

Since I have cheer practice after school today, I pack my workout clothes in my cheer bag. I've been cheerleading for a while, and sometimes it helps me stay motivated. Being so close with these amazing girls always makes me happier. I never thought I could do cheerleading because I didn't have any experience, but I was determined to get some. I was also pretty introverted, so being on a team with other females would be uncomfortable for me.

Because he saw how obsessed I was with the notion, my father urged me to try out for cheerleading. Because I am so shy, I didn't think I would make the squad, but I did.

All because my father insisted on doing something I didn't want to do.

A few words of encouragement, which seemed so insignificant at the time, opened the door to a high school experience that I will always treasure.

My father has always encouraged me to pursue my goals and encouraged me to believe in my abilities. He was my calming influence and the one who always knew how to reassure me. Thoughts of his huge smile still flash in my head occasionally, which sometimes makes me happy and other times sad.

I would always see dad at the games, yelling loudly for me, and I would always feel so proud of myself because I had made him happy. There was no better feeling than having dad give me a tight hug and compliment me on how hard I had worked. I know he was always pleased of me. His affection was unwavering.

I occasionally still scan the audience in the hopes of spotting him, but he is never there. While another part of me attempts to move on and find a way to heal, a part of me is still having a hard time accepting that he is no longer here.

The most significant person in my life, my father, died in a vehicle accident when I was just thirteen years old. Our younger brothers Spencer and Caleb were still in their toddler years, while my sister Laura had already completed her high school education.

I'm in pain just thinking about it.

When my mother got the call from the hospital, the expression in her eyes was so eerie. I was aware of the situation's extreme gravity and severity, and that our family might never fully recover. As soon as I learned that he had a small chance of living, everything in me just halted. I can still clearly recall some of the thoughts that were racing through my head as we hurried to the hospital that day.

Half of me was trying to be upbeat because that's how he was and how he would want me to be, so there was the notion that he would live, but that the accident would only leave him crippled for a while or possibly the rest of his life. Then there was the nagging demon on my shoulder, who was essentially whispering in my ear that my father had no chance and was effectively already dead.

I was torn apart from the inside out when I saw his body in that hospital bed, all battered and scarred from his wounds. I missed quite a bit of school so I could stay at his side as much as I could in the hospital, hoping he would suddenly wake up and get better.

After numerous trips to the hospital, his body ultimately gave out, and he passed away from his wounds. I skipped even more school when he passed away because I wanted time to mourn. After I got back, people offered their condolences, but if they made remarks about their father or complained about them, I would just keep my mouth shut and not say anything about how I would give anything to see them again.

So many things in our home would make me think of dad, like the pictures of him with my mother, my siblings, and I that are framed or the roses he would occasionally buy for her as a surprise. a seat at our supper table that is vacant. Each morning, neither the aroma of the food he would prepare nor the sound of the sports he would watch on television could be heard.

My father's death continued reopening a lot of scars, and because I was living in that world, there was nothing I could do to stop it. My mother, however, offered no consolation at all. I had to rely on my sister as a result.

Because my brothers were still too little to fully appreciate the seriousness of the issue, Laura was the one I would turn to anytime I felt depressed. Laura would become overwhelmed and would allow me to stay in her room as long as possible till I felt better. Since my dad passed away, my sister has been more of a mother to me than our actual mother.

And I have to support myself now that my sister is in college.

We talk on the phone a lot because she is a full-time student and is unable to visit me and our brothers. Once she graduates from college, she plans to work as a language translator and travel extensively.

I hurriedly get in the shower, massage the body wash and shampoo on my body, and then I rapidly shake off all of my dismal thoughts. I finish blow drying my hair and notice that I still have approximately thirty minutes until I need to depart.

Before leaving my room, I hurriedly collect my backpack, cheer bag, and whatever else I can find in my closet. When I spot my mother in the hallway, I halt in my tracks. She enters my room after walking right by me. I can feel the hammering of my heart in my throat.

Great.

Why do I have to nag you to make your filthy bed every time? Mom yells.

I keep quiet. I don't want to say something inappropriate and aggravate her further. Soon after my father died, she changed into this vengeful individual who seemed to desire nothing more than to punish me. mom slapped me when I entered the room after spending time with my two closest friends, Sia and Havannah. I assume mom was upset that I chose to do that rather than coming straight home from school.

I vividly recall running up to my room and locking myself inside for the rest of the day, going without food or liquids out of fear that I would go back downstairs and run into her.

She approaches me and gives me a heavy smack. My eyes start to tear up due to the stinging feeling in my cheek. I bite my lip to keep it from trembling. Since I've been doing it for the past five and a half years, I'm sick of making myself appear weak in front of her.

Saying "I'm sorry." She crosses her arms as I whine.

Just get ready for bed and move quickly to avoid being late. I nod as she growls.

She watches me turn around and make my bed as neatly as I can. I drop the pillow, pick it back up, and set it on the bed as my hands tremble as I smooth the sheets over and tuck them in.

Why bother? All that makeup just makes you look like a wh*r* and does nothing to improve your beauty. As she sneers, I clench my teeth.

My father, not my mother, had made the decision that I couldn't wear cosmetics until I was fifteen. Even if he hasn't been present to express his opinion, I complied with his request because it felt appropriate to follow his wishes. Only Sia and Havannah were aware of the abuse, and anybody who inquired about the bruises were simply told they were cheerleading injuries.

At least I don't have a personality as hideous as yours, even though I may not be the most gorgeous person around. I respond.

I swiftly move by her and down the stairs after picking up my luggage. I absolutely have a very high level of dislike for her. My two younger brothers are standing by the refrigerator in the kitchen, drinking juice boxes in a casual manner.

"What keeps you people up? It's 8:30 when you leave for school. I inquire as I take an apple from the fridge and open it.

They both exchange glances before turning back to face me and shrugging. I simply chuckle and ruffle their hair before biting into my apple. I really care about Spencer and Caleb, and I would be devastated if my mother started mistreating them as well, therefore I consider myself to be their protector.

Why did your cheek change? Everything is red. As Spencer shouts, I sigh.

I'm alright, don't worry about me. That's all I'm able to say.

They are both aware of my problematic connection with our mother, but they are unaware that she also assaults me. When they're around, my mother does her best to act like the devoted mother; however, when it's just the two of us, she turns into a complete monster.

Prior to my dad's passing, my mom never used abuse. My mother has been verbally and physically abusive ever since. She used to love me and, like most mothers, she always put me before herself. You'd assume a mother would console her child when they lost their father, but my mother apparently chose a different parenting manual to read.

Before leaving the house, I stoop and give them both a hug. My cheeks become wet as I go out the door because of the tears that I had been keeping back in my eyes. I fix my leaky mascara once I'm inside my car and glance in the mirror.

I had a high place. Now that the pedestal has fallen apart and I'm buried beneath the rubble, trying to uncover what's left of happiness is like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Nothing is present. no longer.

My older sister or my younger brothers aren't treated in the same manner by her. There's only me. As if I were in danger from her.

Why?

What did I ever do to her for her to act as though I caused her life to be ruined?

She continues to tell me that I am useless and that my father didn't care about me, both of which I know to be lies. My closest friend was my father. Every time I had an issue, I always went to him rather than my mother. She undoubtedly treats me badly because of this.

since I didn't pick her.

I went with my dad.

When I drove into the parking lot, I shake the ideas out of my head and look into my dark brown eyes. I begin to choke as a tear enters my mouth and my taste buds are coated with a strong salty flavor. Ten more minutes pass while I'm still in my car before I notice a bus entering the parking lot. I struggle to get out of my car and enter the building.

I feel a hand tap my shoulder while I'm putting my cheer bag into my locker. I smile the moment I recognize one of my closest pals.

Sia.

We met in gym class in the eighth grade and have been friends ever since. I initially complimented something she was wearing, and as a result, I now have a friend who consistently makes me laugh.

"Hey!" I squeal and give her a big embrace.

The question "What's up?" She asks while giving me a beautiful smile.

"I just got here," I say in response. I'm on my way to Pre-Calc now.

Right before lunch, I have a science test, and I am confident that I will ace it. I spent the previous night studying. I most likely have under-eye bags. She quips while indicating the area behind her fake eye bags.

Who has eye bags? We giggle as I inquire.

The ones under my eyes, please! I slept very little last night, so I feel and probably look terrible. She complains, and I laugh.

Sia looks stunning as always. She always moans about how unattractive she is despite always appearing to be a supermodel. She has a tall, slender physique and a beautifully sculpted face. Next to her, I always feel like a fat potato.

Anyway, I have to leave. I want to arrive at class on time. Bye!" She remarks before giving me another embrace and walking away.

I grinned before slamming my locker shut. Then, in order to avoid being late for class, I pivot and start walking quickly.

Another difficult day has begun.

LISA POV

"Lindsey!" Shouting is heard.

In order to see clearly, I raise my head off the desk and blink a few times. Precalculus is still my course. I nearly didn't realize how lengthy these class periods are. A few other students and my teacher are looking at me intently. Momentarily, the heat of embarrassment rushes to my cheeks, but it quickly dissipates as my displeasure sets in.

I demand, "What?"

Do you mind outlining the steps necessary to answer the equation shown on the board? Asks Mrs. Sennett.

If I understood this nonsense, I would.

Math has always been my least favorite subject since there is something so complex about having so many different equations and decimals along with so many various ways to solve them. Math differs from other topics in that each problem can be solved in a unique way for some reason, as opposed to other subjects where one approach is gua