Amanda

I was walking home enjoying the brisk night air. This was my only me-time; school was filled with people who were always watching me, expecting me to be perfect, do everything right, say all the right things. This was the only time that I could ever truly, be me. No eyes on me all the time, no expectations. It felt good. I walked over to the park across from my house and sighed; getting here meant going home soon. I usually took about two hours walking home from school everyday. My parents thought I was off with my friends, and my friends thought I was off meeting some mysterious boy in some unknown, dangerous part of town.

But I was just taking my time walking home. This gave me time to think about everything, like I said, to just, be me. I walked over to the swings, and sat next to them. Who cared if my butt got dirty? I didn’t. And mom sure as heck wouldn’t notice. She’s be to busy in the living room with her nights fancy. Mom spent most of her days entertaining various different men. She wasn’t a prostitute or anything, she just, really liked men. And they really like her. Or rather, her double d sized chest. So like I said, mom would be busy when I walked into the house.

I laid my head back on the soft grass, (this was one good thing about living in ritzy areas; the town poured money into things like soft grass), and watched the clouds roll by lazily as the sky changed from pinks to purples, oranges and a combination of all three. I loved sunsets, but I also hated them. They told me that it was time to go home, ending my freedom. As if the colors were going away with me. They came out for me, to accompany me. But then the went away with me too, as if too say, it’ll be okay, we’ll be back in the morning. So I guess it was a love-hate relationship.

The sky turned to black, and with a reluctant sigh, I pulled myself off the ground. I made my way across the park, cursing the sky for going dark. I kept my swift pace until I reached home. I stopped at the burgundy door and waiting until I heard mom’s flirtatious giggles. I let myself in, not waiting for Kirsten to open the door, and made a mad dash for the stairs before mom could try to introduce me to her new arm candy. I flew into my room, and flung the door shut, launching myself onto my bed. I looked around my room. Sure, on the outside, I had everything I ever wanted. I had the nice, big house, with the maids, and three cars, one of which was my own, my room was the exact way I wanted it, white shag carpet, black bed, pink and white walls, my own phone, my enytouch, pictures of me and my friends hanging all around my walls, my laptop sleeping on my white desk, yeah. I had it all, alright. All the material things that was. I didn’t really have everything I wanted. I wanted friends that weren’t so materialistic. I wanted to be able to be myself around everyone, and not get judged on who I am. I wanted my mother to listen to me, love me and care about me.

Me and my mother had never had the best relationship. Sure, I loved her like she was the best thing in the world, when I was five. But I was seventeen now. I needed someone that could relate to me intellectually, who wasn’t just one big bundle of drama herself, someone that had time for me. She never listened to me. I was ten years old was when her current “boyfriend” started hitting me. A little punch here, a little punch there, then oh look, I broke your ribs, or oops, I didn’t mean to push you down the stairs. When I was fourteen I finally got the guts to tell mom about it. Though, she didn’t believe me, and said I was just trying to get attention. She thought I deliberately bruised myself to get her to talk to me. After that it got worse. Everyday he not only hit me, he threw me to the ground and trampled on me a couple of times. I remember one time he hit me with a baseball bat so hard I blacked out. I had to get stitches in the back of my head. Then a little after I turned sixteen, she finally got rid of him. Why? She used up all of his money and he had non left. She wanted someone with money.

Nice, right?

Mom and I always fought, especially when she had guys over. She wanted to show them how “obedient” I was. But of coarse, I made a liar out of her. Dad used to be the only one that could ever calm her down. But he’s not here anymore…

I rolled over and plugged my earphones in my ears, blasting my ipod, trying to drown out mom’s moans and giggles from downstairs. At the though of my parents, a tear rolled down my cheek. Of coarse, whenever I thought of them, I always thought of my brother. And the more I thought of him, the more I hated my mother. The more I hated my mother, the more I hated my father. The more I hated them, the more I just hated life in general. The more that happened, the more the little pink lines on my wrist seemed to pop out at me; as if they were trying to say, “Remember what happened last time”. Last time..

Last time.