When Love Meets Hate

Chapter 1: Xavier

I packed my final moving box up and yelled down to my mother.

"It's all packed Mom!"

"Okay," she answered. "Come down and help me finish putting it all in the moving van!"

I trudged down the steps of my now barren childhood home and grabbed a box. My mother has wanted to move out for as long as I've been born, but both my parents wanted me to have two parental figures for a majority of my childhood. As soon as I turned 16, the divorce papers were filed and the fights for possessions began. My dad won the house. My mom won me.

Moving isn't all bad for me, though. There's a story of a fight in every room you walk in. No need to be around those memories anymore. The worst part is losing my dad and my family.

My parents are both happier now anyway, they smile more and have less noticeable bags beneath their eyes. I respect their choice and I guess I should be grateful this was the childhood I had. At least I now know to never fall in love.

If all love leads to is heartbreak, misery, and loneliness then count me out.

It didn't take long for my mom and I to finish packing. We did only need to take half of the boxes. My mom flashed me an excited smile as we climbed into the car to follow the moving van.

"Isn't this exciting," she exclaimed. "We're finally getting out of that god awful house!"

"Sure, Mom, " I reply. What else can you say when you're leaving your other parent behind?

The car ride descends into an uncomfortable silence, full of unanswered questions. Why didn't dad fight for custody? Why did you and dad grow to hate each other? Was it me?

I silently stared out the window, curious to which house my mom picked. She wanted to surprise me, as if it would make me happier about my broken family. It was at least an hour until we arrived.

"Don't look," my mom screamed. "Cover your eyes!"

I slowly covered my eyes and let my mom guide me through the yard.

"Here. You can open them now," she said excitedly.

As I uncovered my eyes, I was assaulted by the brightest blue I had ever seen. The entire house was painted various shades of blue that was enough to make someone throw up.

"Do you like it," my mom questioned, bringing me out of my thoughts.

"Sure," I replied, not wanting to diminish her excitement.

"Alright, well let's help those movers get our stuff," she exclaimed.

We worked with the movers to get the boxes inside and it took a little less than an hour. My mom led me to what was meant to be my room, and it was covered in baseball wallpaper, baseball bed spread, baseball player photos, everything.

"I know how much you love baseball, so I made sure your room was perfect," she explained.

"Thanks," I replied. I hate baseball.

When I was younger, my dad started teaching me baseball in our backyard. I was terrible and frequently hit the ball in the worst places. Once, I managed to hit the ball through our window, right into my mom's face. She needed to be looked at for her gums, so we went to the hospital together. I was waiting outside my mom's door when I heard them fighting.

"Why didn't you set him up at an actual baseball camp? Isn't he worth it to you," my mom screamed.

"I wanted to teach him myself! Why were you standing by the window? You know how bad he is," my dad countered.