Once Upon A Slap

(11) I'm On a Role Because Damn They're Hot

Anxiously, I drummed my fingers on the counter tabletop, while running a hand through my hair.

I was so screwed; how in the world did I manage to lose my phone? How did I let myself act so careless? How did I manage to leave a $500.00 white iPhone and a wallet filled with $2000.00?

I had made a loss of $2500.00.

Now, please do look me in the eye and honestly tell me that I wasn't screwed. Oh, that's right; you can't. I'm broke. The full effect of my idiocity was finally hitting me. My lungs suddenly felt like they were going to cave in on me.

How in the world am I supposed to pay for all of my everyday costs? Groceries, books, notebooks, pens, pencils, erasers, sharpeners, papers, binders, kitchen utensils, shopping and recreational activities? Not to mention all of the other costs I have to take care of.

My monthly check that I was to receive was coming in a month. On a bad month, I received $5 000 worth of money from my parents. On a good month, I received $7 000 from my parents. You could say I was rolling in money. The money left over from that month, I'm supposed to mail back. If I don't have any leftover money, I'm scolded and called every name on earth.

It's that bad.

My parents are hotshot movie producers and they're also part-time models. Snobby? Very much. Rude? Very much. Self centred? Very much. My parents? Sadly. I was denying the truth. More than anything, l just want my parents back. I want the parents that would cradle me and sleep with me at night when I had nightmares. I want the parents who never hesitated to let me sleep with them at night.

Did you know that up until my parents left me, I slept with them all of the time?

I used to have terrible dreams about a man who had once tried kidnapping me. I could remember his sinister face against my younger, scared one. The dreams were too vivid and were tactically made to target all of my weak points. I hated going to sleep at night. I absolutely detested it for a very long time.

Now, I have a different reason to hate sleep, but that's besides the point. After two weeks of me returning from my kidnapper, my parents left because they couldn't handle my nightmares. They couldn't handle me, their only daughter. At least, that's reason. I'm not stupid enough to believe it.

After three consecutive months with no contact from my parents, they returned. Although they changed, so very much. The people whom I called my parents couldn't even compare to what they were before they left. They were too fake, too perfect. The Hollywood life had finally caught up with them. I hated it. It was like they were living in their own perfect little world where I had been kicked to the curb.

No matter how much I tried, I could never keep up with them.

I could never be that fake. I could never be that perfect. I was far from perfect and they were far from imperfect. We were polar opposites. There was no denying it. At least, not with the proof laid out in front of my eyes. Is it wrong to say that I had tried to be as prissy, fake and perfect as them? I was blindsided by my longing for the perfect parents.

I missed the parents who would dance and sing in the kitchen while baking pancakes. The parents who would have the slightest bit of flour on their noses, with big grins to match. I missed my parents that didn't value makeup, jewellery, designer clothing and shoes that much. I missed the parents who didn't let the fame go to their heads. I missed my parents who were imperfect and okay with that. I missed that more than any fucking thing.

The pain I face every time I think about them, hear of them on the radio, the news, or on the internet is unbearable. When they came back, I was okay again. Of course, my parents found the need to leave again. That's right, after having the nerve to leave their daughter, their only child, putting her into a depression like state, they came back.