We Made It

Six

Jenifer's POV

Since Alyssa has left and we kind of connected, I feel lonely. I have nobody to hang out with. Wait, yes I do. Ella. My best friend. How could I forget about her? She needs to come over. Ha. Ha come as in cum. You get it? She needs to cum over. Oh well. It's okay if you don't get it. Not all people do. Anyways, let's get back to the present.

Sighing, I grab my phone from the night stand in the guest room. We are over at Alyssa's mom's house because my dad and I are moving in. I have to stay in the guest bedroom until the hired packers get my things here because his is the only room with a bed, minus Alyssa's mom's and soon my dad's. My assigned room is just across the hall.

I dial Ella's number and press my phone against my ear, listening to the rings. On the fifth she picks up.

"Hello?" She says into her phone.

"Hey Ella," I say.

"Hey Jen," she responds. "How are you?"

"Good," I tell her. "What about you?"

"Same old, same old."

"Wanna come over?" I ask her.

"Your step mother's house?"

I nod by remember that she can't see me. "Yeah."

"She won't mind?" Ella questions.

"Of course she won't mind," I answer.

"If you say so." She sighs. "Okay. I'll be over in fifteen."

The thee line goes dead and I hand up the phone. The last time me and Ella actually hung out together was last month. My dad has been dragging me to there dinners with his new wife. He has also been setting up days for me and Alyssa's mom o spend "girl time" together. She's not a bad lady. She just wants me to like her. I understand that. I mean, I would want my step daughter to like me too.

I just feel as if Alyssa is jealous of me. Well not really jealous of me but of the relationship me and her mother have. It seems as if Alyssa's mother spends more time with me than with her actual daughter. Why doesn't Alyssa come over often? I know she lives in Indianapolis, but he can still come down for a visit once in a while, when possible.

"Jenifer, honey?" My dad's voice snaps me from my thoughts and makes me focus on reality.

"Yes dad?" I all out to him. He's on the other side of the closed door. "Come on in."

The door opens, revealing the face if the person I have been living with for the past eight years. (By the way, I'm 20). The only person I have been living with for the past eight years.

"Me and your mother are going out or dinner." I cringe at the word 'mother'. He's been doing this, like trying to replace my real mother. "Be back at around 10. Fell free to have Ella come over."

"I already did," I tell him. "And please do not refer to her as my mother."

"Of course," he says and I notice that his face had darkened, sadder. I have always known that he still loves her. I still love her. She's a very lovable woman.

He how's me a forced smile and leaves the room, closing the door behind him as he goes.

I let out a sigh as I crash my head on the pillow behind me. A headache is forming from nothing and all I want to do right now is die in a hole in the middle of nowhere so nobody can find my dead body. Why does something become stressful when it really isn't stressful? Like right now, I am thinking if my mother and the last time I remember her. Fully.

-Flashback-

Being a seventh grader is really hard. School puts so much stress on me, plus I have softball too. To make it all worse, my mom has breast cancer and that is why we are at the hospital today.

My mom stayed over last night because something was wrong with the test results they take every month. I feel bad for my mom. The nurses draw blood from her place body every time. But I know she's strong. She's always been. She always will be.

I think my dad knows whats wrong with the results, the doctors most likely told him, but he doesn't want to tell me, afraid of me being worried.

Doctors come from behind the door that leads to all the other small rooms as my dad stands to meet up with them. I watch as their mouths move and words are exchanged, but I don't understand hat they are saying until my dad drops down to his knees with his hands over his face, crying. I don't have to know what words were said to know what they were talking about and why my dad is on the ground, crying. She's gone. My mom's dead.

-Flashback Over-

I wipe away a fear tears that leaked out of my eyes as I was playing the memory over in my head. Every time I think of her, I cry.

I hop from the bed and go to the bathroom. I wash my face with warm water then dry it off. Applying makeup, I think: Women are strong. You never see them cry because they are able to hold back the tears. You never see them upset because they are able to hold everything all inside.