"Being heartbroken is like having broken ribs. On the outside, it looks like nothing is wrong, but every single breath I breathe, hurts. That's how I feel. That's how it's been for months. It's easy to not show it. To hide that the part of me that beats, beats a little slower. I'm happy I can hide it. No one knew I had her in the first place. It was better that way—until it wasn't.

It was until I read the brokenhearted words of a girl who writes sometimes, the things that I have felt. And I wonder if she's going through what I have seen in my life. I would never wish this upon anyone and so I hope that I am wrong. But she makes my heart beat a little faster. She makes me feel a little less alone. And reading her words, somehow makes me realize that sharing a few thoughts and feelings on a screen and knowing there's a chance a stranger is possibly listening, maybe it will ease the pain ever so slightly. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try, because so many times, thoughts are just thoughts never spoken. Held up inside, without a way to get out.

Here's my chance to let it out. The place I will go to be honest. Stripped down. Real. Because maybe just like her, it's all I need.

To find someone who's in love with my mind. Sometimes that's all I want. For once, someone who desires thoughts, just as much as the body. Someone who will watch me slowly take down the walls I've built up around my mind and want to come inside—and stay.

Those girls are few and far between. Out of reach. Maybe even non-existent.

But someday, there will be someone who's worth it. I haven't found her yet. But someday. Someday there will be someone that I would offer the whole galaxy, and I know she'll be the one, because she will have only wanted a single star.

Until then, I will take what I can get. A girl who gives into my desires, makes me feel things I never knew existed beyond just wanting. But craving them. A girl who takes me to a different world, each and every time I would get to touch my lips to hers. Until I find the perfect girl I've been waiting for, I want that. I need it. I need it to keep me going. To make me forget that the perfect girl may not exist in a place near enough that I could call her mine.

Boy_Undiscovered"

I have a love/hate relationship with Wednesdays, because Wednesdays are one of the days I get to enjoy my house alone after school for a couple of hours, but it's also the last day I get to enjoy it for the week, before Dad comes home off the road, and so I always get Kate to drive me home after school so I can take advantage of this much needed time outside of my room as much as possible.

"Chelsea was driving me crazy at the meeting today," she groans. "Honestly, I wanted to smack her. The way she was complaining again about Maddy being Sandy right in front of her, because she thinks she deserves it."

"She'll deserve it when she's a better actress than Maddy is," I agree. I didn't attend this meeting, but I know that Chelsea feels this way. She has expressed it numerous times on her blog about how she thinks she would play a better lead in Grease, especially because Danny is played by Charlie Ross, who she's been sleeping with since twelfth grade started and she believes they would have better chemistry on stage than Maddy and him. "Plus Maddy has a better voice. Everyone knows that."

"Ugh, I hate her so much sometimes," she says. "Why do girls like her have to exist?"

"To make life interesting," I answer, rolling my eyes. "If we didn't have girls like Chelsea, what would we have to talk about?" 

The problem with girls like Chelsea and Rachel, is that they're not your typical mean girls. They're actually usually pretty nice. Our school doesn't really have cliques. There's no groups that would qualify as more popular than the next. Everyone is invited to the parties that are thrown on weekends, and everyone usually gets along fine. And so hating them sometimes doesn't always make sense. Until they get a little more arrogant than they need to be, which Chelsea does more often than not.

"And you should have seen the way Rachel was glaring at Maddy," Kate goes on, slightly laughing. "If looks could kill! I think it's funny Rachel thinks one day she'll be with Harry, but it's obvious Harry just wants to keep her as one of his fuck buddies, just like the rest of them, and she just doesn't know how to hide her jealousy towards them."

"Why was Rachel glaring at Maddy?" I ask, looking over at her. My heart starts to beat a little faster with the mention of the boy who pulls me into school closets and shows up at my window.

"Because Maddy was sitting on Harry's lap the whole meeting," she answers, turning onto my street. "It was obvious she thinks Maddy's invading her territory. Ya know that look on her face every time he's with a girls he sleeps with?"

"Yeah."

"That look," she laughs.

"When did this start happening?" I ask, finally getting to question what I saw yesterday in the hallway. "With Maddy and Harry, I mean. It's so unlike her."

"Seriously, Jayde?" She looks over at me, her brown eyes wider than normal. "What is up with you lately? You usually pick up on everything. Haven't you noticed the way he stares at her in the cafeteria?"

No. He's been staring at me. Wow, do they ever have this all wrong.

"This has been going on for weeks," she continues, seeing me shake my head. "A little while after she got the lead in the play. I keep telling her she's his next victim, but I think she just likes the little attention he gives her. I mean, how could she not?"

I can't be happier that she has pulled into my driveway, as I am wanting to get out of this conversation. I feel myself starting to panic and I can only hope that it's not written on my face. We don't know for sure who Harry sleeps with, or if he even sleeps with anyone. Although Kate and Maddy have devised a list of girls they're certain about, we have never seen him even kiss any of them. They just assume because of his flirtatious ways with particular girls in our school and his reputation. And right now, at this particular moment, I don't really want to think about this. 

"Do you think Maddy likes him?" Kate asks, putting the car into park and looking over at me again. She has a serious look on her face, that more than likely resembles mine. She knows just as well as I do, that forming any sort of feelings for Harry Styles would be bad, knowing there would be no chance in hell for anything to come of it, other than sex and a broken heart. Anyone who wants a relationship should be smart enough to know to just stay away from that. 

"She might like him?" I raise my eyebrows. This would not be good. Panic is coursing through me at the thought that one of my best friends would have feelings for the boy I'm secretly sleeping with. "She'd be pretty stupid to like him though. He's like that with every girl."

"So, you don't think maybe he likes her?" she asks.

"If we know anything about Harry, it's that he doesn't actually like anyone," I tell her, trying to keep my composure. "So no, I don't think he does. And if Maddy knows what's best for her, she'll stay away from him." I take this as my cue to get out of the car, grabbing my backpack on the way out. "Thanks for the ride. I'll see you tomorrow."

I watch as she backs out of the drive way and drives down the street before turning to look at my house. It's starting to look a little run down, the white paneling starting to look brownish and the porch needing a new paint job, seeing the white paint peeling off in different places along the banister. Walking up the front steps, I know nothing is going to change. There's no use in worrying about it. It's the sad reality of it and I know better than to think otherwise. Soon I will leave this place and never look back, and the state of the house I grew up in will be forgotten, along with—I'm hoping—the memories that go with it.

The second I walk into the house, I regret using the front door instead of the ladder to my room. I regret it, because as soon as I walk in, I lock eyes with Mom, who is sitting at the dining room table, cigarette in her hand and her usual vodka and ice sitting in front of her. The sight before me is just one of the reasons I avoid coming downstairs as much as possible, and here I am, faced with it unexpectedly, making me forget the state of our house. Making me forget the conversation about Harry and Maddy in the car. Making me forget about everything, except for the reasons I should have used my ladder.

"Well, well," she says, swishing her vodka around in her cup. The ice making a clinking sound. "Look who decided to finally grace me with her pathetic presence." 

"And look who decided to get out of bed before five p.m," I say, quietly.

It's the first time I've seen her in a while, surprisingly. We live in the same house, and yet I've been able to avoid her for much longer than I ever should have been able to. But it's clear that she has no care in the world to have a relationship with me anymore either. As if we have a mutual understanding and agreement that avoidance is the only way for us to live peacefully.

She looks tired. Her long blonde hair is tied back in a messy low pony tail, clear there was no effort to make it look nice. More make up resides on her face than necessary, and from the looks of it, it's from previous days. And despite the abundance of it, the canvas behind it speaks volumes. Bags under her blue eyes apparent, wrinkles forming on her skin. Looking old long before her time.

I watch as she gulps down the last of the contents in her glass and puts her cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray. "Get me another?" she asks, tilting her glass to me in the air.

I look over to the half empty bottle that's sitting on the table in front of her. She can't be serious? But I do as she says, placing my backpack on the floor by the stairs and walk across the living room to pour her another glass of vodka, even though I disagree with her having another drink.

It's unclear as to how many she's had already, but when she stands up from her chair, I can tell it hasn't been too many, thankfully. Mom when she's drunk, has never been my favorite.

"Your Dad is going to be home tomorrow," she tells me, lighting another cigarette.

"I know."

"So why did you not clean up this mess yesterday?" she asks, looking over the table and into the kitchen. Ashtrays full, bottles of vodka laying around. The sink has only a few dishes, but I'm guessing it's too many for the likes of her.

"I'm working on the musical at school," I tell her, honestly. "There was practice last night and I didn't make it home in time."

"A musical?" she laughs. "Why waste your time on something as stupid as a musical?"

"Nothing better to do, I guess." As soon as I say it, I want to take it back, because the look on her face says she's not pleased with my answer.

"Nothing better to do?" she asks raising her voice, her eyes widening as she looks at me. The hair on the back of my neck stands up with her tone. "You should have been home, cleaning this mess! Your Dad comes home tomorrow and it will not look this way when he walks in the door. You know what happens when he comes home to a mess!"

"Even if it isn't a mess, it still happens," I tell her, starting to walk away. "You chose this life, Mom. This was all you! If you think me cleaning up a few ashes and bottles will ever change that, you're surely mistaken! I'm done trying to make it easier for you. Clean up your own fucking mess! Or are you too drunk to realize you're the one who's made it?"

She grabs my hand and pulls me around to face her. Her face inches from mine. The smell of vodka and cigarettes on her breath. "Do not talk to me like that in my house!"

"Your house?" I scream. "If it wasn't for Grandma's money, you wouldn't even live in this house!"

Before I know what's happening, her hand vigorously swipes the side of my face. The sound of the radio playing, the only sound around us as we stare at each other in silence for a few moments, trying to come to terms with what just happened. My hand instantly touches the cheek she just slapped, feeling the burn intensify over a matter of seconds. Tears start to well up in my eyes with the pain, but I will not let her see weakness in me, forcing them away.

"I don't know how you know about my mother's money," she says, lowering her voice to a husky tone. "But you will not speak to me like that. I am still your mother and you will respect me."

"I will respect you when you deserve it." I turn to walk towards the stairs, not wanting to be in the same room as her anymore. My hands are shaking and my heart is pounding, anger surging through my veins.

"You're still a piece of shit child," she yells across the room. "Some things never change."

"And you're still a piece of shit mom," I retort. "Clearly Dad's been a bad influence on you, if you think it's okay to hit me."

"You get what you deserve," she tells me, nonchalantly.

"Just like you do, right?"

Before going up the stairs, I look over at her, seeing the pain in her eyes as she looks back at me. We both know that the life she's been handed isn't what she deserves, but she doesn't leave. She blames it on love, which is apparently something that she says I will never understand, because no one in their right mind would ever love me.

I can't bring myself to feel bad for her in any way, as I walk up the stairs and down the long hallway to my bedroom. I lock the door behind me, putting my backpack down before going straight to my bathroom to look in the mirror at my face. Never in my life has she ever laid a hand on me, but it's clear in my reflection with a red hand print still visible on my cheek, that things have definitely changed.

I am used to her words. I am used to hatred in her voice when it comes to me, and sure I've felt the pain from it. I have felt the long term repercussions already of things she has said to me, carved into my brain. Wanting so badly to prove her wrong, unsure if I will ever be capable of doing so. But never has she hit me. She can say whatever she wants to me, but she will never lay a hand on me again, if I can help it.

If only I had used the ladder to my bedroom, none of this would have happened. Clearly I have learned a lesson, and that is to not assume she will always get out of bed in the evenings, and so from now on, I will always use my ladder, no matter what day of the week it is. 

There will be no more cleaning up after her. I have tried to show her that despite our avoidance of each other, that I was trying to help her in the smallest of ways. Despite the way she talks down to me, she's still my mom and I wanted to do what I could to make her life a little easier, to prove to her that I'm still here. That if she wanted us to leave like I tried telling her we needed to, so long ago before things got worse, that I would be on her side.

But I'm not on her side anymore. I don't have a side. I have myself, and that is more clear to me now than it ever was before. It has been just me for years. But I was trying to hold onto something that evidently just isn't there.

To get my mind off of things, I turn on my laptop, and get comfortable on my bed, finding that Boy_Undiscovered has written a new post. I take in the beautiful words he has written on the screen to forget about the reality of everything around me. The way he writes is charming, in a broken sort of way. I like that he seems to know exactly what he wants. And so, for the first time, intrigued by the person behind the words, I click on the follow button, knowing this person in particular doesn't have a clue as to who I am, and therefore it's safe for him to know that I read what he writes.

A/N: Hey Lovies! Thanks for 2.3K reads! Hope your still enjoying the book so far! A few things revealed in this chapter. ☺

Thoughts about her mom?

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Much Love,
amberlove

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