{COMPLETED} ✔ December Bloom

eleven

Norah;

I sighed happily, adjusting my reading glasses on my nose, as I turned the next page in my book.

No, I am not a nerd.

…

Okay, maybe I am just a little bit.

So what? I was reading a book. Is that so bad?

And yes, I do wear glasses but only for reading. Sometimes. Only when I desperately need it, like now.

Yes, I do know about that whole 'If you wear glasses you are a nerd/geek' thing.

Which is completely lame if you ask me, who even follows labels and stereotypes? Why do we even have them? I guess it's because lame people who don't even have a life find it fun to make up lame stupid names for people to be categorized in.

Get real.

Anyway, back to the present here.

In case you were wondering, the reason I sighed happily was because of my book and no, not because it had something to do with quadratics or inventing the next computers etc.

For your information, I was reading a romance novel.

…

Okay, you can stop laughing now.

It isn't funny!

Damn, I may be mean and uncaring sometimes (bitch is what most people refer to me as) but I do enjoy a good sucker romance story once in a blue moon.

Alright, you caught me!

I love them and live to read them, it's like a tradition, an old habit that I cannot break and you know what? I don't want to!

Sorry, I love my little romance novels way too much!

I'm such a romantic sucker.

This is true though, by the way.

Candle-lit dinners, slow walks along the beach at night, a lover who would serenade you, gazing at the stars with the love of your life…

I sighed again, thinking about all those things.

Then again there is the other side of it, more passionate really.

Hot steamy kisses, sneaking around, being secretive about affairs, stealing moments…

I flopped back onto my bed, my head sinking into my pillow, sighs escaping my lips yet again.

There was a suddenly loud ring and I slowly got up from my bed, padding over to the phone in the living room. Jenna was out today, don't know where but around campus, I know that for sure.

"'Lo?" I spoke into the phone.

"Hi there, honey!" I heard the chirpy tone of my mother filling my ears and I mentally groaned. I love my mom and all but sometimes…she can be too much. She can act so nice and chipper but can also be the meanest thing alive. Sometimes, I don't know whether I love her or hate her.

"Hey mom…" I replied a little unenthusiastically.

"Are you studying? Working hard? Projects? Homework?" my mom bombarded me with these questions. I sighed.

"Yes, I'm studying. Yes, I'm working hard. A lot of projects and homework." I answered them all, truthfully.

"Remember, you need to work really hard. You have to decide on which college you want to go to and it has to be right. You know, you can't just change what you want to do like that, you have to have a future." she told me sternly.

"Yes, mom."

"And no boys. I don't want ANY fooling around, those hormone-driven kids don't even know what they're doing half the time. No boyfriends, you got that, young lady? You have to start making decisions for yourself and not for anyone else. I don't want you pregnant at the age of 18, hear me?"

"Loud and clear."

"Good. You need to have a future planned out. Work always comes first, no play. After all, how do you think your father gets so successful? Work, dear. And I? Work. No playing or fooling, teenagers today think that life is always about fun and how easy it is. I tell you, why, just the other day in the supermarket I-"

I cut her off immediately, knowing that she was going to start a long, unbelievably annoying rant about how in her day they didn't do this, respect and all that crap.

"I have to go now, mom. Big test to study for, okay?"

"Huh? Oh yes, of course honey. Sure, bye!"

"Bye, mom." and I slammed the phone down back into it's cradle, glaring at it.

Oh yeah, definitely one of those 'I love my mom' moments. You can just feel the love.

Not.

I stomped off to my room in a bad mood.

This is why I hate her so much sometimes. I mean, she can be a sweet lady but ninety-nine-point-five percent of the time she is so anal and overdoes a lot of things.

Like, whenever she calls she is always on my case. She's always asking about my work, telling me what to do and what not to do. I don't listen to her though. She isn't here so it isn't like she can just check up on me every single freakin' second.

She's trying to make me up into the perfect little child. And I hate it. She always finds something wrong with me most times and berates me a lot.

I hate it.

I feel suffocated by her, wrapped up so tightly that I can barely breathe let alone move.

And I feel imprisoned by my own life.

I hate that she makes me feel like that, she even manages to make me feel inferior about myself. Plus, if she can't find anything wrong with my grades then she starts a whole long rant about my appearance, my body. What clothes I wear.

She wants me to be the epitome of perfection and I can't match up to it.

My father is a whole other story. He's unemotional, doesn't feel anything and detaches himself away from our family. He's always burying himself in his busy workload, never making time for us. Always away on business trips. We rarely ate meals together, hardly ever.

I hate my dad because of that.

I do have an older brother. He's 23 years old now and goes by the name of Rick. I even hate him sometimes too. I have reasons to anyway. He's the one that causes me all this suffering from my mother.

It happened, six years ago…

See, when he was a lot younger, he was a role model of perfection. No joke. The best grades, most popular guy in school, good looking, everything.

Then, it changed.

It started slowly with the drugs. No one knew how he started, it just happened. His grades began to slip. Soon, more drinking. Popularity lowers. Then, sinking into a sort of depression. Changing him. He dyed his hair from brown to black, his skin became pale and gaunt. Got piercings all over his body, tattoos covering most of his skin. A haunting figure, just a ghost of what was once before. We only realized it when he tried to commit suicide by slitting his wrists. It was only pure luck that I needed the bathroom then.

I was the one who found him.

Days, I wonder whether he would've died had I not found him.