SHATTERED

Chap:11: Frustrated Tears

Reyna's POV

I feel so angry. Why did I burst out like that ? I wish I hadn't .

I tried so hard to hide it, but it just cracked. I just couldn't take it anymore. I just had it. My eyes are hurting. My cheeks are itching in the places the tears had raked over. Even now I'm trying to down out her voice with Linkin Park. The volume is up 59% . I can't hear anything.

The second a song ends, my fingers fly over the keyboard to start up another one. I stab the keys repeatedly wondering why its taking so long. Hurry up you piece of shit ! I don't want her to start talking again.

It was just like every other day.

It was only the two of us that lived in the house. Dad worked somewhere else and lived there six days a week . Only had time for us every Sunday. He came in late every Saturday night. Sometimes I stayed up to welcome him and sometimes , somewhere in my sleep I heard the soft closing of my bedroom's door . He always went away again ,early on Monday mornings.

Mom had sacrificed her dream to pursue a job (on Physiotherapy , after completing a gruelling course and training on it ) ,to take care of me . Put her dream on hold till I passed my O levels and went off to college. But we all know she's getting old, even if I finish she probably won't take up any jobs. My mother was probably the most paranoid woman on the face of the planet. But I haven't seen much of anything yet , there might be more like her that I don't know of yet. Hopefully God will never make me cross paths with another one again.

She doesn't like mixing with people much, always suspicious, which isn't completely uncalled for since she lives with two kids alone in the city with a husband far away, trusting people isn't easy. Unlike most families all our relatives like to keep to themselves. We got used to it and adopted the trait so it doesn't really matter much.

I get it she doesn't have any people to talk to, not many places to go and mix with people her age freely without constant worries consuming her. But that doesn't mean she can take it out on me . I try not to get irritated when she repeats the same stories of the same people and their problems over and over again. I believe since the future is uncertain and bleak, the present filled with constant worry she chooses to live in the past.

Its a small house, ours that is, not really ours, its rented. Its small but long, that doesn't help though. No matter where I go, if I start to watch TV , she comes and sits on the sofa and begins the same talk, when i'm listenning to music on the laptop she comes and prods me to pay attention as she talks. She has lots of time , nothing much to do but follow my life with a microscope.

When I was younger , I craved that attention, I really did. All because I never got it. It probably also had something to do with the fact that I was a silly little kid who wanted attention. Now its the exact opposite. Maybe its because I'm a hormonal , sensitive and naive teenager who causes more worries for her mother by misunderstanding her actions then resolving them like a good, dutiful daughter should.

I don't have the right to complain or rant. I'm getting everything aren't I ? A roof over my head, anything I want to eat anytime I want, I don't have to go to bed with my stomach grumbling , pretty clothes on my back, the best education possible , get to travel around in a car like a princess , despite the car being a little old and patched up in places. Laptop and internet 24/7 , my parents aren't even that strict, I can have facebook, they don't look through my emails, check the history on my computer, unlike some have it. That's right I don't have the right to complain. There are so many unfortunate kids on the streets that would kill for less than half of what I have. I have so much I should be grateful for.

I live in a rectangular box, which is my rented house. Its uncertain when we will get our own one. Maybe when its ready, who knows how long that will take. Another source of worry on Mom's plate. I usually go to school in another rectangular box, my car. When the car's busy, I walk. I prefer walking next to the car. In the car, its more alone time with Mom. Listening to her complain about how marrying my father ruined her life, how she wasted her youth slaving for his family , a bunch of ungrateful , selfish oppurtunists. How he never gave value to her ideas , how he had ruined her life by not letting her complete her studies and wasting her talent and brilliant mind washing dishes , cooking and raising children. How much of a fool he was that he never knew how to invest and increase his wealth and whenever he had some he would flaunt it and squander it. The same complaints over and over again. Like a broken radio playing the same thing again and again.