Fight For It

Chapter 1. Excuses

"Scarlett Rose, you cannot wear that," my mother told me as she walked into my room. I was wearing black leggings and a plaid shirt; I didn't see a problem with it.

"I'm comfortable; is that a crime?" I snapped.

"For a nice dinner with the Mathews, yes. It's Dylan's eighteenth birthday, try a little harder to make it look like you're not completely miserable." My mother knew how much I hated Dylan, but because her and Dylan's mum had been friends since college I had to be around him much more than I would have preferred. I rolled my eyes and walked back into my closet in search of something nicer to wear.

I finally settled on a simple black dress - it was nice, but also a subtle metaphor for misery.

I walked down the main stairs and entered the kitchen where my mother was finishing wrapping Dylan's gifts. She looked up from the ribbon she was tying and mentally critiqued my outfit choice.

"Isn't that the dress you wore to your father's funeral?" She asked sounding appalled.

"Yes, I thought it was fitting for the day that Dylan was brought to this world," I smirked a wicked smirk and walked out to my car. The only perk of growing up in a wealthy family was that I always had a getaway car when I needed it; otherwise it actually sucked.

After my father passed away our house felt massive and empty. Mother and I hardly saw each other anymore; we were always on opposite ends of the house. I was typically in my art studio, and she was usually in her office with her patients.

My mother was a shrink. She hated when I called her that but it was her profession and there was no denying it.

She said calling a therapist a shrink was similar to calling a black person the "N" word, or a white person a cracker. Derogatory and disrespectful. But she obviously thought her title was much more important than it actually was, so I called her a shrink anyway.

Mother didn't like me very much because I wasn't like her patients who she could talk to and understand what was going on in their heads. First of all, I would never actually sit down and talk with her about my "feelings." And second of all, I knew she could never understand a single thought that ran through my messed up head.

When I pulled up to a stoplight my phone buzzed in the cup holder. I unlocked it and checked my texts.

*I see we're driving separately.* From my mother of course. I decided that it would be best if I didn't reply so I set my phone back in the cup holder.

I pulled into the parking lot of the overly-expensive restaurant Dylan had chosen for his birthday dinner. As I was about to step out of the car, my closest friend, James, called me.

"What do you need James?" I asked the moment I accepted the call.

"Party tonight at Tristan's! It's supposed to be one for the books! You in?"

"I have to have dinner with the warden and Dylan's family, but I'll try to slip away early. If this party is going to be as good as you say, there is no way in hell I'm missing it!"

"Good. Then I'll see you there!" James ended the call and I sat in my car pondering how long I could avoid dinner before my mother came looking for me.

My thoughts were interrupted by her pounding on the window - obviously I couldn't sit in my car long at all.

I rolled the window down and looked up at her makeup coated eyes. "Are you trying to break my window?" I asked.

"Turn the car off and get out, we're going to be late," she commanded. I obeyed reluctantly and followed her into the restaurant. Dylan and his mum, Jannell, were sitting, waiting for us. When Dylan spotted me a crooked smile spread across his face that made me want to pull the mirror off the wall behind him and smash it over his head. But I refrained from severely injuring him on his birthday.