Loving Isabella

Chapter 1: The Past Always Returns

I always knew I was different. That I was incapable to "love" anyone. I often wondered to myself why was I like this? Why am I incapable to love anything? Anytime I was excited about something or someone it was replaced with nothing. 

Around three years ago, my mother was taken from me as well. I haven't heard from her since then and honestly it was probably for the best. My mother, short ginger hair and beautiful brown eyes that switched to hazel in the sunlight. I remembered she used to give me the best hugs whenever something horrible happened at school.

***

"Isabella? Are you okay? You just ran into your room like nothing happened." I wanted to be left alone and why didn't she understand that? 

"I'm fine mom." She continued to ask me the same question over and over. I was sitting on my bed with the covers over my face. The grey sheets reminded me how bland my personality was getting. The bullying from my classmates to my boyfriend being abusive didn't help things. My mother knew something was wrong, but she usually didn't try this hard to know.

"Isabella, honey, please let me in." Finally with her begging me enough I decided to let her in.

"Are they bullying you again?" Without another word leaving my mouth she wrapped both arms around me. She just hugged me for as long as I needed it.

***

I groaned and grinned my teeth. I hated remembering all those girls at my school who couldn't stop picking on me. It was either I was too skinny, too fat, too tall, or a slut. Honestly, I couldn't win even if I had tried to. I still remember the way my mother's short ginger hair would move in the wind. How we would be driving somewhere and she would be venting to me about work. How the wind from the window being down would ever so gently brushed against her face. I missed her so much, but I haven't heard from her in three years. I don't know if she is dead or hiding. She went with her new boyfriend and left with him. I checked the news outlets all the time to see if anything is stated. I can't find her anywhere on social media either. Thinking about mom made me sad, but I always hoped she return to me. I hoped she would so I could get another hug.

My father died when I was five years old. I have old pictures underneath my bed of when my mother and him were younger. I reached from my bed and grabbed the box. They were the polar opposites of each other. My father, dark brown chocolate hair and blue eyes were piercing. My mother always told me she was madly in love with him. I flipped through the pictures and see my mother smiling from ear to ear. They looked so happy to have one another. When dad passed away all those years ago it changed her. She started going from man to man. I wondered if she hoped she find another man like my father. Would she have been happy if she ever did find another man like him? Before my thoughts can hold me any longer my phone rings.

I grabbed my phone and answered with the standard "hello?"

"Isabella, honey it is me. We need to talk."

"MOM?!" I screamed out the words faster than I had ever imagined. Was this my mother?

"Yes honey it is me."

"Where have you been? How could you leave me like this? Where have you been for the last three years of my life!" My excitement slowly turned into rage. The words felt like fire coming out of my mouth. That the rage of her leaving me all alone was only getting worse by the second.

"I can't explain on the phone honey. Please don't be angry with me hear me out! I am going to text you an address to a restaurant. We can talk there. It is important that you come alone." Before my words could flow out of my mouth like dragons breath she ended the call. She wanted to see me and of all places a restaurant? Why did I have to come alone? Why a food place when we could meet at the house? I never stopped living in my mother's house. I could afford the bills with the job I had. I worked for a man who used to date a girl who bullied me in high school. My bosses name is Jeremy and we worked on the local newspaper together. Of course, most of our writing was done digitally, but some people still enjoyed a hard copy of the newspaper. Nonetheless, I guess I would meet with my mother. I needed those answer that have haunted me for so many years.