Elizabeth's POV

Zero tolerance for bullshit is all I have now. If I lose anything else today, I bet I'll be breaking a world record. I'm so not dealing with being toyed anymore. No overthinking, no anticipation, no invention of dialogue ideas in my head, and no thinking about them today or any other day; that's it.

I thought that balancing my work and love life is killing two birds with one stone. Little did I know that they are the stones, and they're killing the only bird, me. In my case, it's killing one bird with two stones.

Even if I try, and even if I want, I just can't. Usually, we don't get what we want nor what we even need. Life is not fair, and it will never be.It hits below the belt.

As for my job, I might be a perfect candidate for other companies, but being fired from my most recent job raises red flags for coming workplaces. Kevin, my ex, was the person I imagined my life with, and it's screwed up now. We're not on the same page now. I want to tear and burn his page and Laura's page as well. My life must hit some turnover. They cheated me. I was not a good deal for them; I got a raw deal.

People at work envied me for having Laura as a friend. She is sassy, easygoing, and witty. If they are in my shoes now, they'll probably be careful what they wish for last it comes true. How stupid and naive are they?

"I'm over him," I assure myself, starting the car, "I'm over everything in my life," I roar, trying to convince myself.

The car engine roars back, and I absentmindedly make my way to the store. I guess I'll be pulling an allnighter with sobbing, watching a rom-com, more sobbing, and mourning all my life decisions. I've always been obsessed with organization and planning. What happens? My life is far from organized, and I don't even have a plan.

As I park the car, my phone rings, and it's my mother. I debate whether to pick up the call or not. I had this theory that she might have felt my pain from far away, and she's calling to check up on me.

"Hi, mommy," I answer, finally deciding to pick it up before it stops ringing.

"Hey, sweetie," she replies.

I wait for her to say anything, but she doesn't, and I'm already anxious. I feel another flood of tears threatening to fall down my cheeks, but I try my best not to wail so as not to worry her.

"Soooo?" I impatiently ask, wanting answers. She hasn't felt my pain or anything. They're making it all about themselves again.

"Your father is er- sick, and he wants you to fly back to visit us," she statters, "him. I meant him," she corrects.

"Oh my God, you're not doing this again," I bellow.

"I don't even know what you're talking about," she lies again.

"You don't even know? Let me tell you then. Every time and I mean it, every time you call me, tell me that my father is sick, and force me to fly back to the place I hate most. Then, I find out that you're deceiving me, and he has a clean bill of health," I retort.

She doesn't reply. I think I've stepped way off the line. Not wanting to hurt them, I've always beaten around the bush about their sudden visit requests.

When she still doesn't reply, I maintain, "you always told me that if I didn't get my act together, I must leave. After I'm gone, you want me back. You come up with excuses to voluntarily bring me back to my prison."

"You appear to be bending out of shape and losing control. Pull yourself together and then settle on whether you want us or not!" She scolds, her voice breaking.

"I'm not getting fooled again, Mommy! That's the last straw," I spat, knowing it's all just an excuse to bring me back to my hometown."We'll not cross that bridge when we come to it. Drop the subject, please, I know what you're trying to do," I say, "mommy?"

The sound of silence embraces me from the other end. The call is now dead when she awkwardly hung up. I can't believe they're doing this to me.

I've left my hometown to start my career and become independent. My parents never approved of this idea, and they always force me to come back with the excuse that my father is ill. That was just so obvious yet my oblivious self hasn't figured it out except in my last visit. Yes, they're controlling, you can say that again, that's the reason why I left in the first place.

Without the slightest idea of what's going on today -your guess is as good as mine-. I slither to the store to grab some snacks for the longest night of my life. I put on my sunglasses to hide my puffy eyes, but I feel helpless about my red cheeks and nose.
_____________________________________________________________________________

As soon as I enter the apartment, I throw my shoppings on the couch and slide into a long bath. One that you can't distinguish water from tears. I'm in a perfect storm. Further, to add insult to injury, I'm jobless too.