When I Met Her....

Prologue

*AMANDA IS THE MEDIA*

Prologue

Laurel's POV

"What are you doing?" My mom asks.

"I'm setting my stuff outside. What does it look like?" I say.

I'm taking my fully packed suitcases and boxes and setting them on the porch outside my mom's house.

"Why?" She asks.

"I'm gonna sit here and wait for dad." I answer dragging my last suitcase over the threshold of the front door.

"Fine." She says, throwing her hands up in the air, "Suit yourself."

"I will." I say.

I think she's going away until I hear the pounding of her tennis shoes. She comes into my line of sight and stops directly in front of me.

"What is your problem?" She demands, "I do everything for you and you've been nothing but a disappointment. You complain. You whine. 'Why do you stay out all night?' " she says mimicking me in an abnormally high pitched voice. " 'Why are you always so drunk?' "

"Do you even hear yourself?" I ask calmly, staring her straight into her forest green eyes, "You sound pathetic."

"I sound what?" She growls, and I can see the anger brewing behind her eyes.

Just let it go. A small part of my mind tells me.
Forget that. You've spent almost your whole life listening to her bullshit. The bigger part says.

"I said you sound pathetic." I smirk.

"How dare you!" She exclaims angrily.

"I dared myself. Just like you would dare yourself to drink straight alcohol instead of water." I retort.

One minute I'm confident and unstoppable. The next minute my body is crumbled on the ground of the porch. She slapped me!!

"Don't you dare speak to me like that ever again!"my mother declares.

"I won't. After today, I don't ever plan on speaking to you ever again." I groan, holding my face.

Her face ignites with anger and she bends down, grabbing me by my hair, pulling me up.

"You little bi-" she starts.

"What the hell is going on?" A familiar voice booms.

Daddy. My mother let's go of my hair and I fall on the ground again. I hear my father stomp up the steps on his way up the porch. His giant arms surround me and lifts me off the ground.

"Are you okay?" He asks, pushing my brown hair behind my ear.

I nod, staring at his chest. His finger lifts my chin up so I'll look at him. His face twists in a way that can only be identified as rage when he looks at my face. It must be red.

"Did you hit her?" He snaps at my mother.

I turn to look at my mom and her face is that of the woman I see when she comes home wasted at 4 o'clock in the morning.

"And if I did " she shrugs.

"What the hell is wrong with you? Amanda she's 17!"

" What do I care? She the most disrespectful, ungrateful little 17 year old bitch I know." My mother says, sending daggers at me with her eyes.

My heart breaks at her words and I gasp, trying to catch my breath as a sob rips through my chest. Immediately my father's arms tighten around me.

"Let's go." He says to me, pulling me down the porch steps to his Black Lincoln Navigator.

He helps me into the front seat of the car and closes the door. He walks back up the porch and for a minute I think he's gonna hit my mother. But he doesn't. He reaches past her for my white suitcase and purse.
After he loads up the trunk and backseat of his car with my stuff, he goes back up to the porch where my mother stands with vicious eyes.

"Something is seriosly wrong with you." My father says slowly, "And you won't be seeing my daughter again unless she says otherwise."

"Your daughter?" My mother asks, sounding appalled.

"Yes my daughter. As far as I'm concerned you haven't been a good enough guardian to call yourself her mother."

"Last time I checked, you haven't been around to call yourself her father. "

"Its because I didn't know. I thought she was in good hands."

"She is!" My mother yells.

"She was not. But that's all going to change now." My father promises. "If I need to bring a lawyer into this to keep you away from Laurel I will. I'm warning you Amanda. Don't try me."

My mother's face twitches, turning from a grimace to a smirk.

"OK." She says.

"Amanda I'm serious." My father says, walking down the porch steps.

When my dad gets in the car his hands are shaking terribly. He grips the steering wheel so hard the skin over his knuckle turns ghost white. Then he puts the car in reverse, backs out of the driveway, and speeds down the street. I watch the dirty white house of my nightmares get smaller in the rearview mirror and I remember all of the horrid memories I had there and I shudder.

"Its all over now." my father reassures me, laying his hand on my cheek as he drives.

I lean into the warmth of his hand and the scent I remember from when I was little. And for the first time in years I think it might actually be okay.