Far Too Many Good Intentions. (Harry Styles)

We'll become silhouettes.

"Shit!" I screamed into the empty apartment, putting my head in my hands.

I fumbled in the dark for my jeans and a t-shirt, too hurried to even turn the light on.

This was a bad morning. No, scratch that, it was a fucking terrible, awful, horrendous morning.

My mother had already left me 7 voicemails, indicating that I was in deep shit. I quickly slipped on a random pair of shoes, not bothering with fixing my birds nest that I called my hair. I dialed the witch's number, pressing the phone to my ear as I locked the door. As soon as she answered, I wanted to throw my phone against the wall.

"Addison Marie Saint-Claire, where the hell are you? Our reservations were for half an hour ago! I told you to be ready, but obviously, I can't trust you with anything," I could almost hear the cruel smile appear on her face, and I rolled my eyes as I walked down the stairwell to the street.

"I apologize, Mother. I'll be there in fifteen minutes, I promise," Trying to be polite was beginning to be a struggle, but she forced me through ten years of finishing school in Paris for a reason, and I had to uphold to her standards no matter what.

"Don't embarrass me, Addison," she snapped, and the line went dead.

"Fuck you too," I muttered, stepping out into the bright, early autumn sun.

Seeing as I was coming from my downtown flat to some swanky, stuck-up restaurant someplace where I'd never even heard of, I probably wouldn't make it in time. But of course, what Mother wants, she gets; plain and simple, and I could not be late.

I walked briskly through the crowded streets to the nearest subway. My hair was getting more and more tangled as the wind blew, and I groaned inwardly. I must look like a train wreck, I thought as I waited with the rest of the passengers in the tunnel.

When I finally got off the train near Michigan Ave, I was full-on running to this place. It wasn't that I was afraid of what my tyrant of a mother would do to me if I was late; I just wasn't in the mood for one of her bitch fits.

I arrived at the restaurant at 10:02 exactly, and knew I was screwed. I saw her overly bleached blonde hair peeking out from behind a chair and I cringed, looking at my own dark brown mess, a color I had dyed it as soon as I moved out.

As I approached the table, mentally cursing myself, I noticed she was sitting with a few of her girl friends. This was about to get really rough. Her Botox-infused face snapped up to see me, a wicked half smile on her lips.

"Nice of you to join us, Addison," she gestured to the women sitting across from her. "Ladies, this is my very late and very irresponsible daughter I was just telling you about."

I sat down awkwardly at the table. "I apologize for being so tardy. I seemed to have overslept," I plastered a fake smile on my face, speaking only when necessary.

For the rest of the hour, these strange women scrutinized me with their beady eyes. After a while of this, I began to feel ill. My mother made no attempt to make me feel like a daughter. I felt like a burden. The women let out another cackle of laughter.

I slammed my hands against the table, pushing myself to a standing position. "Please excuse me, I have to use the restroom." That, of course was a lie.

I grabbed my bag and trudged out the door of the restaurant. I needed to get away from this place, and fast. I had put up with enough snooty, stuck-up bitches telling me how to run my life.

Riding the subway back to my little flat, I dialed the familiar number as I packed a large suitcase, and looked up the nearest flights to London. When she picked up, enraged, I cut her off. "I'm leaving."

"What do you mean, you're leaving? Where could you possibly go?" my mother sneered.

"The UK, actually. I thought 'why not'. I'm eighteen years old, and I'm tired of you controlling me."

"You ungrateful little--"

"See you whenever," I called loudly, and hung up. Judging by the time, I had a plane to catch.