Twisted

Chapter 10

Vanessa's POV.

God, I fucking hate Mondays. The time on my kitchen's clock read 7:03am, and the thought of dragging my ass to South Shore this early in the morning literally made me want to vomit my Captain Crunch.

But none of that compared to the image of Ashley's pale and desperate legs wrapped in possession around Erin's torso.

Rich bitch, always gets what she fucking wants

I semi smile at my inward thought, as I bring another spoonful of cold cereal to my mouth.

Wait! Can someone please tell me what the fuck is wrong with me?

I'm not sure what it is, but I can't wrap my mind around this Erin guy. He's clearly an emotional sad case that has his head shoved too far up his ass to get over himself. I mean, you got dumped, get the fuck over it.

Shit, it wasn't even that though. It was those damn blue eyes...

Behind them, there was something that I couldn't grasp, something that sent me running for the fricking hills.

Overall, I just didn't like the feeling he gave me. I didn't like how I felt so...dare I say it...vulnerable?

"No", I shake my head, gripping my silver spoon tightly. "I have to stay the hell away from him. I can't-"

I'm interrupted by the sound of jangling  keys, and the ear stretching tune of sloppy giggles stumbling, along with uncoordinated feet, through the house's door.

She slams the door behind her, while attempting to stand up right in whatever posture she can best master.

She drags her feet from behind her though the kitchen and stands crooked in front of the kitchen's table, blocking my view. Her hair is a disheveled, fussy mess. When she smiles, I can smell her strong and foul breath; the scented combination of alcohol and cocaine making me almost gag. Her peach t-shirt is completely over stretched, hanging lifeless off her right shoulder, and her blue jean skirt holds wrinkles that could last for months on end.

"Vanessa", she groggily laughs. "I'm home"

I'm so disgusted that I can't even look her in those hazle nut eyes that I use to adore and love in times of comfort and need. The fact that I even use to lov-.... care for her is sickening.

"Hi Sarah", I barely say under my breath as I continue to move my cereal around in the bowl.

"Oh come on, Vanessa! You haven't called me your mom in years; get over yourself.", she rolls her eyes and grabs the seat across from me at the kitchen table.

"I have to go get changed for school." My jaw is pressed into the hardest line it could ever master, and I slowly rise from my seat, trying not to let my anger get the best of me. I begin the journey up the staircase to my room.

"Okay, but you should know that Peter is pissed at you."

I stop in my tracks, and an abrupt shiver travels through my spine, briefly making my legs quiver. A cold sweat quickly slips down my forehead, and I feel my heart accelerate a million beats per minute.

Trying to calm my shaky stature, I take a couple of breaths. Mastering my best polker face look, I turn around on the staircase and crosss my arms over my black tank top. "Why is Peter mad?", I ask as calmly as I can.

"You can't be serious.", my mother erupts into an hysterical fit of laughter, and I quickly find out how much my anger can replace fear.

No, I am not scared. Being scared is for the weak.