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**TWO YEARS AGO**
LILLY’S P.O.V.
I step into the house, waving away the smoke that hit me as I walk in.
"Mom?" I call out.
She lay on the couch with a cigarette between her fingers, and bottle in her hand.
"Mom?" I grab her cigarette, and rubbing it into the ashtray on the table in front of the couch.
"You said you'd stop." I say, disappointed.
She rolls her eyes. "Lilliana." She sighed loud, and dramatically. "It's a just a fucking cigarette. It's not like its anything worse."
"And what’s that?" I ask nodding towards the bottle she clutches.
"Oh my god! Lilliana! I'm not perfect!" She exclaims.
I reach my hand out towards her. "Just give me the bottle, and show me where you’re keeping the rest."
"This is the only one." She says quietly.
"Why do I feel like you're lying?"
"Oh please." She says irritated.
"Mom." I beg quietly.
She takes a swig of whatever is in the bottle while making direct eye contact with me.
I shake my head, feeling like crying. "Why are yo-"
I stop my sentence when the front door opens.
Steve walks in and stops when he see's my mom.
He rolls his eyes at my mom. "Smoking in the house again?"
"It was just a cigarette!" She shouts.
"And that’s just a fucking bottle of milk, right?"
I watch as he crouches next to her. "Beth, give it to me."
My mom’s eyes go to the bottle, to Steve, and then wander all around the room.
She looks back at Steve, and sighs.
Then she takes another swig, but hands the bottle to Steve immediately after.
Steve smiles. "Good." He strokes her hair, and kisses her cheek.
He leaves the room, probably going to dispose of the alcohol. He ignores my presence, but that isn't anything new.
I continue to stare at my mom. I don't understand her.
She looks up at me. "What do you want now?" She snaps.
I jump at how forceful her voice came out.
I shake my head to say nothing, and then I walk away.
**THE NEXT DAY**
I feel his lips go up my neck, but I can't concentrate on it. All I think about is my mother. Why can't she be a normal mom? Why can't she get super worried when I catch a cold? Why can't she insist that I'm pretty when I say I'm not? Why can't she l-
"Hey." Ryan interrupts my thoughts.
I look him in the eyes. "What?"
"Where have you been? You completely spaced out on me." He says.
"Oh, Sorry." I look away.
He removes his arms around my waste, sitting back on the bed. "What's wrong?"
"You want to talk about feelings?"
"Sure why not?" He answers my question with a question.
"We’ve never really talked about our feelings with each other." I reply.
