My Stepbrother secret obsession

Our Critical Mood Swings

AVA

It was at times like this when I was bound to live in a racking solitary confinement that I realised people are wrong about money, fame and power. Those three were the hotkey path to the first tier of hell. Outside, they glow an overstated opinion about us, deceiving others into believing we have everything we wish for, not knowing wishes are always hard to be granted. Inside those three self-destructive weapons that come with wealth had deprived us of a lot of things due to the wrong choices they have always led us into making.

My mom, for instance, if three years ago she was granted a flash from the future of who she would become this day, I am confident she would've never come here. She would've taken her small clinical fellow job in London over being a recognised consultant around the states.

It is more than just some misunderstanding. She is now something I can never understand. It was like she had forgotten I needed her.

From my box, I had plucked a worn black oversize t-shirt with a large slogan stamped boldly on it and slipped over my head in the driveway while waiting for everyone to come out of the building, which took over thirty minutes. Thirty minutes of being isolated by my family.

Christian would've come over, I know he has a lot in mind he wanted to talk to me about, but he has to choose his wife. And it's okay since she didn't return home with a man she had once introduced to her husband as her boyfriend.

Through those long thirty minutes of absolute nothing, since I had lost my mobile phone and I had no company around, I had to lean against the front pilaster and count the tapping of my toes on the concrete floor.

I was eager to leave to anywhere our destination was; as long as I could get into a room, I could lock myself in. I was keen on many things. I was eager for time. I was seventeen yesterday, which is progress, given how things are going. There is just senior year, and I can leave here for good.

In the exact thirty minutes, Christian and mom came out looking ready for the day. Mom? You shouldn't be surprised by now if I tell you she looks like she was set to walk down the red carpet of a movie premiere or rather a conference at the white house. There was no slight evidence that she was literally throwing objects at her daughter some minutes ago. Right now, she was dressed in a red blazer and trousers, her hair was neatly collected in a ponytail, and her make-up was light but expensive.

She walks in her heels accordingly in style, holding hands with a formal dressed Christian, heading for the parked vehicle.
When he spotted me through the lenses of his sunglass, he let go of her hand and stalked over with a light smile playing on his lips.

"You okay?" He asked, taking off the eyeglass to hook the temple around the pocket of his dress shirt and run his hand down the placket of the fabric he was wearing while he suspires.

"Never better. I don't like it here anyway." I shrugged as he began to carry my boxes to the car boot while I followed behind him.

"You know you're grounded, right?" He stopped and looked back over his shoulder with narrowed eyes, hinting at the consequences.

"I don't care." I huffed, and he set the boxes to the ground, lowering their pullers. He pressed the automatic button of the boot door before he turned over to me.

He looked left and right and incline almost to my height.

"I didn't ground you, you know?" He whispered, winking, and I giggled at his humour.

My eyes met mom's; she frowned and looked away quickly. No mistake, she hates me.

I pull in a deep breath into my lungs, my fingers involuntarily intertwined when I divert my eyes away too.