Amor Rebelde

Chapter Nine (unedited)

"She's the rare book waiting to be held by the right pair of hands; her story not just read but understood and her ending written together."

~Unknown~

Shrieks overpowered the musical notes that danced in the kitchen. I had tried to turn up the volume to tune out my parents' current argument as to why I was such a freak, as my mother had commented during dinner just moments ago. Of course, I had been in no position to defend myself and just sunk lower into my seat as my father scolded her for the language. After that, my mother turned her fury onto my father, saying how he could deal with a screw up of a daughter in his final moments. Right after--to draw attention away from her earlier comments--she had not so subtly turned the conversation into a reason for them to get away, go to some exotic island. No doubt she must be thinking she'd be fed grapes by men with eight packs and smoldering smirks that took her breath away as my father slept in the hotel room.

Without me, of course. I was too much baggage.

And now, they were fighting over two topics: me and going to Bora Bora. I was the second topic, meaning even vacation ideas were placed above my own welfare and happiness. Tired, my father didn't even notice, and I didn't blame him entirely. My mother was mostly at fault.

But, then again, my father was blinded by love and she was overpowered by the idea of finding a new romance that would take her away from this rundown town and crumbling family that added to her unwelcomed image.

So, as they argued, I knew I shouldn't take it to heart. He would eventually die from cancer, and she would bolt out the door as soon as the possibility arose without having too much negative rumors surrounding her. She could take any snide comment about her daughter, but when it came to people saying what a horrible wife she actually was, my mother would break down like the Titanic. Could she handle being called a bad mother? Yes. Horrible wife? Absolutely not. How would she find another man?

 Without the clueless men who floated to her like bugs to light, she wouldn't be able to cover the expensive costs of her daily life. A lawyer like her--as she commonly said--needed the best clothes, jewels, and shoes money could buy. Whether that money was from a new beau, husband, or daughter's savings account, she didn't care.

And I had learned to stop asking for anything new a long time ago.

As their argument continued, I grabbed the wash cloth, soaked it in soapy water, and began washing the pasta sauce from the white plates and utensils. The music filled every crevice of the room before being chased away by the yells of my parents. Ignoring it all, I hummed mindlessly to the music, allowing my pruned hands to scrub harder and harder until the stains were just a figment in the past. And for moments, it worked. I didn't hear the buzz of the argument or the bits and pieces that were meant to tear down my self esteem.

Until the doorbell rang and my mother shrieked for my useless self to open the door already.

Sighing, I set the plate down and walked past the stairs. They seemed like an amplifier to my parents' bickering, making every word echo toward my ears. I silently slipped past them as the doorbell rang loudly with three jingles. From above, I heard my mother curse like a crazy woman before I darted forward to grasp the door handle. I pulled the door open and stepped back just in time as a fist came forward, stopping inches from my nose. Instinctively, I curled back, ducking my head as the person froze.

After precious seconds of my startled breathing, I glanced up to come face to face with the town bad boy. My blue eyes widened in surprise, and I oddly felt naked in a black tank top and orange soccer shorts and socks. How come every time my crush was around, I looked like Frankenstein with an addiction to pulling my hair out. (It was currently tied back like tangled rope.)