Touched (Ongoing)

Before It Began

God, why does school have to start so early? Seriously, no one is able to function at this hour. As much as I love technology, I swear I hate it too. Otherwise, everything would wait for the sun. Which is what I'm trying to do, mostly to avoid school. My mom, however, is not on board with that plan.

"Yasmine Lia Price, I know you're not still in that bed!" Mom shouts through my door as she wiggles the handle. Ugh, now I have to get up. If I don't, she'll never stop and I'll never get back to sleep.

"Alright, alright, Mom. I'm up, okay?" I say in exasperation as I roll out of bed and go unlock the door. I swing it open and almost laugh at the comical way Mom looks. She stands in the hallway, black Armani pantsuit in pristine condition, and taps one foot against the floor. One of her perfectly styled eyebrows is raised in annoyance, but it seems to be her only imperfection. I'll never understand how we're actually related. I can't remember ever seeing a hair out of place on her, even when I was a child. And yet, I can't even make a good ponytail, let alone keep anything clean or looking brand new. I must've gotten my characteristics from my father.

My father, Mom's one true imperfection. Maybe that's why she tries so hard to have control over every other aspect of herself. After getting pregnant in highschool, by a guy she had only just met, Mom must've changed. I've seen pictures of her from before then, and she seemed normal. I guess having a child on your own while the father whose last name you don't even know runs off can change you. Now she's just unbearably uptight.

"Yasmine, you're not even dressed! You're going to be late!" Mom throws her hands up in a gesture that almost conveys defeat. I know better, though, because Mom never gives up. Proving my point, instead of walking away, she bustles into my room and begins riffling through my closet.

As she searches, digging way in the back, I can't help but cringe. I know that she's not going to pick one of the t-shirts or pairs of jeans that I usually wear. No, she's going to try to make me just like her, which means I'll be wearing one of the designer outfits she's insisted on buying. It doesn't seem to register with her that I've never worn even one of the countless outfits she's bought. For some reason she just can't see that it's not me.

I plop back onto my bed, leaning back onto my elbows and trying to prepare myself for what I'm sure is going to become a disaster of a day. And it's only Wednesday. My least favorite day. Great.

Don't get me wrong, I hate Mondays just as much as everyone else, but there's nothing worse to me than a Wednesday. It's not the beginning of the week, where you're at least fresh off of a weekend, and yet it's not close enough to the next weekend. It's just smack dab in the middle, where nobody wants to be.

I let out a groan of pain when Mom finally finds something she likes. It took a good ten minutes, and I decide not to mention to her that I could've been ready in the time it took her to find an outfit that satisfied her.

Mom turns to look at me, a smug smile on her face. She looks like the cat who ate the canary and it's kinda terrifying. If I didn't know any better, I'd say she's trying to make my life Hell on purpose.

She walks towards me, hanger in hand. I almost puke at the gross salmon color. It's some sort of jumpsuit thing, with ruffles and frills everywhere. And flowers. It's covered in flowers. If you're into that stuff, better on ya, you would get along great with my mom. Me, on the other hand, I can't stand that stuff. My everyday outfits usually consist of a black, grey, or a purple (the only real color I actually like) t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans. And my black motorcycle boots. They're badass, and I wear them everyday, but I have a feeling Mom's not gonna go for that today.

I grab the hanger from Mom and put on a fake smile that probably looks more like a grimace. "Thanks, Mom. What would I do without you?" I say with sarcasm, but I have a feeling that she didn't catch it. Instead of looking offended, she smiles, pats my arm, and walks out of the room.

"You're welcome, sweetie," she says as she pulls the door shut behind her. "I'll be downstairs." The door clicks and I begrudgingly begin to undress. I have no clue how this jumpsuit thing works. How the hell do I put it on? Just when I think I've figured it out and am pulling it on, my door swings back open. With no forewarning, I scramble to cover myself. I know it's my mom, but I'd rather we not stand here having a conversation while I'm half naked. I quickly pull the jumpsuit the rest of the way on, grateful to have somehow figured out how it works.

"Oh, honey!" Mom rushes into the room with her arms open to embrace me. "You're so beautiful," she hugs me to her tightly, and I struggle to breathe while she acts as if it's homecoming I'm dressed for and not a regular school day.

"Mom," I exhale, using what may be my last breath in an attempt to let her know I'm dying. Thankfully, she let's go and I swear I feel life again. Okay, so maybe I'm a little dramatic too, which may be the only trait I share with my mom.

"Sorry, hon, I just came in to tell you to wear your pink heels I got you. They'd match perfectly," for the second time this morning, she opens my closet doors. It's not been a very good start to the day. She shifts a bunch of boxes before she finally finds the shoes she's looking for. I feel my mouth drop open when I see how tall the pink wedges are, and I wanna cry at the thought of how my feet will feel by the end of the day.

"Oh," she says as she sets the box on my bed, apparently oblivious to my gaping mouth and obvious shock. "Try to do something with you're hair," she picks up a strand and let's it fall. "Of course, there's only so much you can do with purple hair. I'll be never understand what possessed you to do that, Lia."

The only thing stopping me from a snide remark is that I know she means well. It really wasn't an insult, because for her, it truly is baffling why anyone would color their hair something so unnatural. So, instead of mouthing off, I bite my lip and smile. It's a little easier to not get upset when Mom uses that name for me. It's a name that she only uses with endearment. Well, at least on its own. Like most parents, if that name is used along with my first and last, that usually means I'm in trouble.

Mom walks out again, and I hope this time she's actually gone. I move over to my vanity and stare at my reflection. I try to see myself the way my mother does. I try to see the girl with potential, not just a girl with purple hair and freckles. No matter how hard I try though, I can't see what she does. I don't even know what I see. All I know is what I've been told, and what I've heard said about me behind my back all my life.

'Such a shame. A pretty face gone to waste' and 'She must've gotten it from her father. Her mother's not that strange'. Nothing hurts like knowing that no one actually judges you for who you are. They judge by what you have and what you do with it. Apparently, it's a crime to everyone if I, a girl with a beautiful, rich lawyer of a mom, don't follow in her footsteps.

Of course, there is one person who sees the real me. My best friend Sam. He seems to be the only person in this small town that knows who I am. He's the only one that doesn't look at me and see what I'm not. It's refreshing, and it keeps me sane.

I finish getting ready, and try my best to appease Mom. I don't feel like arguing this morning, even if it's over something that seriously annoys me. I even curl my hair, although I'm not sure if it actually looks good, being as how I couldn't style my hair to save my life. I'm proud of myself though, cause I only burnt myself twice which has to be a record for me.

Usually Sam would be here to take me to school, but I had texted him last night and said I wasn't going. I should've known Mom wouldn't let that happen. Instead of Sam's car, today it's Mom's beeping at me from the driveway. I grab my bag and put on my shoes. I trip twice in the heels just trying to walk out of my room. As an afterthought, I quickly grab my boots and shove them in my bag. I'll change into them as soon as Mom drops me off. There's no way I'm wearing these death traps all day.

I rush to the car, well, as much as I can rush in these shoes. Mom sighs when I climb in the passenger seat, and I look over to see a satisfied smile on her face. Man, if this is bad, I can only imagine how people are going to act when I actually get to school.

My Wednesdays going great! Not.

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Hopefully you like the first chapter! I actually really liked writing this character, so let me know what you think! I love reading feedback. Btw, don't forget to check out some of my other stories (some are finished, some being written, and some ideas that can be written). I love knowing you guys are interested. Xoxo 😊