Ally's POV
I laid awake in bed, still wearing my old, over sized dark red sweater and ripped jeans. My head was spinning with images of my nightmare. I hate
Nightmares. And dreams. I looked around my new, bare room. I heard the TV running downstairs, meaning my mom was up. I sat up in my bed and turned on my light. I let my dark black hair out of my messy bun, then walked into my own, private bathroom to remove my make-up. Since this was the 4th time my mom and I have moved in my 13th year of age, my Mom felt bad for me and gave me my own bathroom. Ever since my Dad left before I was born, I have lived in a tiny flat (apartment) in London, a few apartments in New York, a house in Maine, and now a house in Providence, Rhode Island. I always had the same nightmare when I moved, about a visibly evil man laughing a villainous laugh. When I was younger, I would run into my Mom's room, crying, and she would always say something about my Dad. But now that I was 13, almost 14, that would be considered immature.
Sometimes I wish that society would accept it.
