𝐜 𝐡 𝐞 𝐫 𝐫 𝐲

1.

I don't care if my mom's dead.

I actually kind of hated my mom. Not even in the way where a kid gets mad and whines "mommm, i hateeee youuuu" and then hugs and kisses they're mom half an hour later.

I actually hated her.

Usually when a mom dies in movies, they describe her like the most lovliest person ever, like she loved to paint and was artistcly talented and kind and beautiful and intelligent  and whatever. My mom wasn't any of those things.
She was ugly. Both inside and out. She had a brown pixie cut with a big humpy nose. Short hair and big noses shouldn't go together, because then your nose will be the biggest thing on show. She had boring brown wideset eyes, and thin brown lips that never showed any color. When she smiled her teeth showed, which were all crooked and yellow and disturbing,
She always wanted to be an actress. She took notes every time we watched a movie so she could learn tips. She once audtioned to be juilet in romeo ad juliet and they said no cause she wasn't pretty enough. She often faked cried and one time tricked me that our dog died. I didn't really care, cause I don't like my dog. I don't like dogs in genral. Or animals. Or children.
She stopped fake crying and made a expression I couldn't figure out. "You really have no emotions, do you Quinn?"
She's just so unfunny. So Stupid. I hate her.
I ignored her question by shrugging and tilted my head to the side. "Why are you so cruel mother?"
She hates it when I call her mother. I find it funny when she's mad. She rolled her eyes and stood up from the ground where the very much alive dog was sleeping. She ignored my question back. She started humming a tune I never heard before and walked into the kitchen. I followed her and grabbed a red shiny apple.
"Paul's coming over tonight."

PAUL. I HATE PAUL. I MIGHT EVEN HATE HIM MORE THAN MY MOTHER.

Okay, that's not true. No one could ever be as bad as my MOTHER.
Paul does kind of suck though. He was bland. Boring. Either hardly talked, or talked too much at the wrong time. He was bald. I don't like bald men, they weird me out. They look non-human. "Why?" I took a bite of the apple. Ew. Why did it taste like that? I looked at my bite and it was almost brown. Fuck. I exhale and open the trash can to throw away the apple-

"What do you think your doing?" My mom says, making me pause on the trash can situation.
"throwing away...this...apple?"
"let me see," I showed it to her, she shaked her head. "your fine. Not too brown. I'm not going to the grocery store until next week, and we don't waste food in this house. Eat it."

She almost sounded mad at me, for throwing away a raw apple. I hated her. "What? Mom, its a raw apple. Do you want me to get sick?"

"Quinn-"

"To die?"

"Quinn, stop-"

"THINK ABOUT IT MOM."

"Melon your going to be fine!" She yells, I try to keep from laughing. I love to annoy my mom. Best part of my day. "Just eat the godamned apple. We don't have that much food in this house and money is rough." She rolls her eyes again. I take the stupid apple and run to my room and slam the door. Why does she have o be such a bitch about small things? I throw the apple in the closet. No way am I eating that. She didn't even tell me why Paul's coming. Idiot.
I look in the mirror. I don't resemble my mom much, thank god. I don'y even know what my dad looked like, but whatever. It had to be somewhat like me. I have actual color on my lips which I quite like. I have good lips. Pink and plumpy and always soft. Its the best thing about my face. I have brown boring eyes too, so that sucks, but it's fine, they're feline shaped. I have a good nose, which is straight and tiny. I have a cleft chin, which kind of sucks but it's really not that noticable. I have a good smile, at least. And blond hair. I dyed it blond so people wouldn't think I was related to my mother. I have acne on my forhead but that's why I got bangs.

"QUINN! PAULS HERE!"

UGHHHH. PAUL. IDIOT PAUL. Just something about him annoys me so much. He's not bad, he's quite sweet actually, but boring and and idiot.

I walk in the living room and he's sitting there, breathing heavily like a weirdo and his hands are shaking. He's nervous to meet me. I find that hilarous. I'm the least looking intimidating person in the world. "heyyy.....Quinny."
"Hey."
"How are you doing?"
"Fine."
"Oh, good."
"Yeah." He gets one syllable today.
"School going good?"
"Fine."
"grades?"
"eh."
"oh"
"yeah."

My mother gives me a look. She knows what i'm doing. I scare him, I don't know why though. "Quinn, don't be rude."

"I'm not!" I give her  look back.
"she's not-" he smiles slightly at my mother. "She's totally fine."

I hate him. He's so annoying. He's probably homophobic too, and racist, and a trump supporter, just like my mother.

But I guess that doesn't matter now, My mother's dead.

Dead as a doorknob.

She got hit by a london bus.

Haha.

She was digging in her purse for a ciggarette and walked out into the street while a big blue bus was coming. Idiot.

The police knocked on my door the night she died, I was with Paul, he wanted to have a fun night with me while my mother was grocery shopping. "I got it," I said, getting up from the table. We were playing "SORRY!"

"No, I can get it."

"No, I got it. I'm already up."

"You sure?"

I sigh. This was exhausting. Why did he have to be so nice? I nod and walk to the door. When I open it there was two officers, both had their hat in their hands. "Hi, are you Kasey Fabray's daughter?"

Something inside me already known something was wrong. I nodded, and one officer kneeled on the ground and gave me a look. he had kind eyes, but the look scared me. It scared me so much I froze. "Okay sweetie, can you go wait upstairs while we talk to your dad?"

I assume that meant paul, even though he's not my dad and never will be, but I proceed and walk up the stairs anyway. But not all the way. I stay on the seventh stair so they couldn't see me but I could hear them.

Then they told him.

They told him and I didn't know how to feel.

I ran up in my room and shut my door quietly, then sat on my bed staring at my wall trying not to cry. I missed her already. I missed her idiotic voice, her crooked and yellow teeth and her big humpy nose. As I sat there for about twenty minuets, I realized I always hated her cause of the bad times we had, but I never thought about the good times.

The time when some boys at school made fun of me for how my boobs were so big, and she took me to get ice cream and we listened to our favorite songs in the car and danced. The time when we had slept in a tent on the beach. I hated tents and I hated camping and the beach, but it was actually fun. We made our own handshake and we danced and we swam and we slept together in eachothers arms.

I wanted to give my mom a hug.

One last hug.

But now I can't and I never will. I live with paul now, and he asks me every five minuets a how are you doing? Its been two weeks. I'm fine. Just because your mom dies doesn't mean you have to be depressed till you die. My mom being dead doesn't define me as a person. I still hate her, but I miss her. I will always miss her.

Because she was my mom.