BLOODLINES OF MILWAUKEE. (UNDER EDITING.)

•WHATS MINE, WHATS GONE

There had never been, and will never have been and probably never will be a lock on my door.  Not here.
I no longer jump hearing one of my parents burst in.

“So have you finally thought of the date?”
Of course fucking not
No. Of course not. But yet, I don't know why.
So what do I say? Do I tell her not yet and never do get an abortion? Or do I just give in like that? Should I tell her about my plan?

“Oh my God Renée, just say it!  Y'know Leticia would do this exact thing.”
My eyes widened.
Oh fuck no.
I launch my body up to be sitting up on the bed and take a big breath,

“No. I'm not like Letty because I have a plan. I plan to take my things and leave to go live with someone else. I also plan to never come back here, because like you said I'm just another damn guest.”
That's not my plan.
But her face. It makes me want to laugh. It's whiter than usual, and saying that mother tans.
But then shock quickly becomes calm. What the hell?

“Ok Renée. Then here's what's going to happen,”
She walks toward me with speed and grabs my arm dragging me to my wardrobe. I shout at her to let me go and that she's hurting me but she doesn't stop.
I'm thrown onto the ground and fall on both knees and then to my side.
“GO ON. GET YOUR THINGS AND LEAVE.”
I don't move. It's almost like I feel paralyzed. She screams here and pushes me aside and grabs my backpack.  She then shoves all the clothing I've ever bought for myself, anything I've bought for myself really. Which isn't much.
The clothes I bought were all cheap.
She threw the black athletic leggings I bought, three shirts that were from sports and then two hoodies and a zip up. Both hoodies have my last name on the back.
One for basketball, and one for dance.
Anything else was thrown all in one go. I don't get the chance to see it.

My mom then throws my phone, along with my Converses.

“GET OUT.”
She drags me and the bag to the front door. She throws me out into the cold. I quickly stand and put my foot in between the door before she can close it.
“Wait!”
“What!?” She shouts in my face.
“Give me her number. And the address if you even have it still.”
“Who's?!”
“Letty’s.”
My mother quickly groans but walks back into the house. I watch her grab a pen and piece of paper, she scribes some numbers and words, then throws the paper toward me.

“Take it! Now get out of here! I never want to see you or that thing in my house ever!”
“I plan on it.”
The door slams shut on my face.
I scream out of anger, I grab my backpack and sprint out into the street.

Rose. I need to go to Rose.