As Long As You Love Me

1 ~ Tears, WMYB, & Rocks

☼ mitchie sky ☼

Most normal teenagers my age wake up to the sound of an alarm clock. 

I am not normal. 

I wake up to the blaring sound of the horn of a ship in the vast ocean outside my house. 

"Agh!" I groan as I shoot up in my bed. The bright sunlight is streaming through my window and bathing my room in a warm, golden color. I squint and rub my eyes. 

Then it hits me - it's the first day of summer vacation. 

A slow smile stretches across my face, and I stretch, feeling unnaturally happy all of a sudden. Three months of freedom - long walks on the beach, sketching the world in my notebooks, listening to my favorite songs...

I bounce off the bed, examining myself in the mirror. I look awful. Well, I always do, so it comes as no surprise. 

I stare at my reflection, my happy mood beginning to fade. My eyes glaze over my acne-studded face, my boring straight, mousy brown hair, my messy unshaped eyebrows, my pudgy nose, and the tired bags hanging beneath my eyes. 

I'm a stunner, aren't I? 

But today, I was feeling happy. I refuse to let my sorry face ruin it all. I duck into the bathroom and get ready for the day, fixing my hair into a simple ponytail and attempting to pop some of the volcano-like pimples on my chin. 

I then rifle through my closet, picking out a boring red tee and beat up jeans, which, being $20, are probably the most expensive things I own. 

I snatch my iPod from my bedside table, plug one of the headphones into my ear and set it to shuffle. 

"You're insecure, don't know what for..." 

I cheer silently. I love when my iPod seems to recognize my mood. I didn't know much about One Direction, but their music was great and always put a smile on my face, even through the darkest times.      I bop over to my pet Betta fish, a lovely little guy named Nugget. He was undoubtedly my best and only friend. I slip in a few pellets and pat his tank lovingly. "Good morning, Nugget," I say with a smile. 

I bounce down the stairs, still dancing. Mom is sitting at our small, scratched up breakfast table and has her head buried in a newspaper as she daintily sips at her coffee. 

"Morning, Mom," I chirp. 

Her eyes flash up to assess my getup and then go back to her paper as she nods slightly. My heart drops, and I hurry into the kitchen before she can see the look on my face. 

Mom likes things to be perfect, including her children. She's very pretty, my mom. Unfortunately, I'm adopted and did not get her genes. Ever since I hit my awkward phase, she's been sour towards me. I will never understand it, but it never fails to hurt me.