Love at its least .

2

A lot of bad things can happen in a lifetime.
Sometimes we can control them; sometimes we can't.
It's just that when it happens, we feel like the whole world comes crashing down right at our feet, and sometimes we sink so low that we can't get back up.
It's been a week after the incident with Nicole and nothing changed. I would get the occasional glare from Nicole and her friends, but that was it. I haven't even seen the mysterious guy so everything was normal...or normal enough. I hadn't been effected by Nicole's revenge yet or at least I hope not. I didn't know what she was going to do, but I was afraid that I wouldn't be ready.
I zoned out of my thoughts and realized that I was standing there, in front of my room mirror, noticing my long dirty blonde hair. It was in desperate need of a haircut, but that was my last priority. My body wasn't skinny but I wasn't fat. I had just the right amount of curves and everything, but when I looked at my face, sadness overwhelmed me. My face was drawn, my hazel eyes were interrupted by the dark circles I had from the amount of stress and lack of sleep. My toned skin was now full of tear tracks. I tried to wipe it off, but I failed. I quickly turned away and fell on my bed.

Why is it so easy to doubt yourself?

Hollow and pained, I was trying to keep my head high. I didn't even know that I had been crying in my sleep. I just felt alone. It tends to get tiring when I put on a strong face so people won't notice anything about me, but inside I just wanted someone to understand, to recognize my loss, to be there for me. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, not saying anything, and then I heard the door open. I froze like I always seemed to do. I heard something break, and it created an echo through the empty house. I sat up on my bed, knowing that my mom was drunk and had come home again. I looked at the long mirror at the corner of my room, and threw a pillow against it. I got up from the bed and opened my room door, and peeked downstairs from the balcony. I could see my mom holding on to her stomach as she tried to climb up the stairs. She was drunk but not as drunk as usual. Somehow though anger coursed through my veins and I grind my teeth. I yelled, fuming, "Get out!"

She looked at me, but continued to walk slowly up the stairs towards her room.

I grit my teeth even harder, and I yell, "I told you to get out," I hesitate, "I don't want you living here. You just sink so low and you try to drag me down with you, but no! I'm not going to let you do that. I hate you!" I stop, noticing what I just said. I see my mom look up and stop in her path. She may be drunk, but I know she is still aware of her surroundings...barely. My heart continues to beat faster and faster as I see her stumbling up the stairs towards me.

"Whaaattt did youuu just saaayyyy? Goooo! I don't giveeeee a FUCK anymoreee about youuuuu!"

I freeze, and take in what she just said. I finally answer back," I don't need you either! You're just in my way of having a life while you drink your way back to nothing."

She stands there and soon enough, slaps me across the face, and says, "Youuu! A cuurrse! Justt like yourr fatherr!"

"It's better than being you!" I answered back.

As I turned on my heel, she grabbed my hair and pulled it as much as she can as I shouted in pain. I tried to grab her hand and pull it away, but she grabbed my wrist first. She tightened her grip and my wrist bone started to hurt, but I didn't say anything nor did I look at her. I was scared and had no idea where this was headed. She had never laid a hand on me so this was something I never expected. She pushed me towards the floor and stumbled towards me. I tried to crawl away from her, and she immediately took off her heels and started to laugh. I started to get off the floor when she started hitting my legs. I struggled to get up and ran into my room, slamming the door. I could feel a stinging sensation on my left thigh and as I looked down, I could see blood spurting out from where the metal spikes on her shoe dug into me.