Alone - ON HOLD

Chapter One

I wonder how it feels to love and to be loved.. I've always thought about that because I have always wanted my father to notice me but he never did. He never appreciated me. I have no idea why he doesn't like me. I can sense it because he made it so obvious for me to know. I bet he doesn't even want to think that I exist. But there's my mother, the woman who loved me from the very beginning of my existence, the woman who was always there for me when I am in need, the woman who was there for me when I don't know what to do anymore, the woman who I loved so much. She was everything to me. She is the reason why I can still stand and not lose hope. I don't want her to leave me.

When she told me that she will always be there for me, I felt relieved. If it wasn't for her, I might be alone right now. I was so happy that in this world that we're living in, you will never be alone, that there is someone out there who will love you. She was that person to me.

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"Yes! I'm finally done!" I raised my hands, holding onto the drawing that I drew. "I better show it to mom." I thought, I opened the door of my room and went to the living room hoping she's there, She was sitting on the couch, sewing something that looked like a handkerchief. "Mom, look! I made this for you!" I ran toward her and showed her the drawing, it was a drawing of me, my mother, and my father. I'm in the middle, holding their hands, we looked happy. The scenery was a garden. "What do you think~?" I asked happily. She held the drawing and looked at it, and she smiled. "Wow, at a young age, you're pretty good at drawing~! I love it! Good job, Nicole!" She said happily while smiling at me. "Thank you, do you think if I showed it to dad he would love it as well?" I looked up at her, smiling. "Of course he will!" She said. "Okay!" Dad was in the kitchen, he was reading a book I don't know. My father is an intelligent man. I really admire him. Nervous, I went to the kitchen and approached him. "D-dad..?" as expected, he didn't look at me. He just continued reading his book. "U-umm, I wanted to show you my drawing.. It's a drawing of the three of us." I nervously put the drawing on the table in front of him. He glanced at it, I smiled when I saw him do that, but then.. he frowned and left.

It hurts.

I bit my lower lip trying to stop myself from crying. I grabbed the drawing and ran toward my mom, I hugged her really tight. "Huh? Nicole, is there something wrong?" She hugged me back looking confused by my action. I didn't answer her question. I kept silent and hugged her tighter. "...Did your father..?" I flinched, hearing her call my dad made me remember all the times when my father ignored me, not that it doesn't happen, but the times when it hurt me most. Seeing that I didn't respond, she patted my head. "It's okay, I'm here." She said. Just hearing her say that made my tears fall from my eyes uncontrollably. Even though I didn't say anything, she already understood the pain that I was feeling. "I'm sorry, dear.." She said as she pat me on the head. "No, it's okay, mom. I'm.. used to it." I answered in a voice that can be merely heard but she understood what I have said anyway. "Why does dad hate me?" I managed to say. "Why is it that whenever I talk to him he doesn't talk to me back?" tears started to drop from my eyes. But it was incomparable to the pain I was feeling. My mom just looked at me and said, "Oh, my dear Nicole..." and hugged me back, patting my head.

I would always feel relieved when she hugs me. When she says that everything would be okay I really do feel like everything would... because she's there with me. And I have always thought it would stay that way.

Until that night.

It was nine o' clock in the evening when it was time for me to go to bed, and time for mom to tell me a bedtime story. "Nicole, I've read this to you many times before, are you sure you want to hear it again? Don't you want to hear a new story?"
"It's okay mom. I really like this story." I smiled at her.
"Well, okay," she laughed. My mother was a writer. And for me she was the best. She was the one who wrote the story I always asked her to tell me.