Seven

The sun was shining in through the blinds, which were always closed, but still didn’t quite keep all the sunlight out. I used to keep my shades open in the daytime to let the warmth shine in and let it heat up my skin, but that was the old me. The new me was depressed, distraught, and uptight; still the new me wanted to be the old me again.

I rolled over, felt something cold, and flew. It was the razor blade that I had to my wrist only hours ago. I picked up the blade and examined it carefully, then I checked my wrists; all; was clear and free. I got up and out of my bed, and walked over to my vanity and peered into the mirror. My hair was still a disaster and my makeup was smeared all around my eyes. I remember I never showered the last night, so I made my way to the bathroom to wash away the disgusting mess that coated my skin.

I twisted the nob of the shower and stepped in. The water was cold, not yet warmed up and I shivered as the stream fell down from my hair making smaller streams as it washed the grossness down the drain. I felt so disgusting, from the inside out, I just wanted it to all wash down the pipes like it did the first time. I wanted to be my clean, pure, innocent self again, but that wasn’t going to happen.

I got out of the shower and grabbed my blue towel, the one that matched the bathroom décor perfectly. My mother had a thing about making the stuff in each of the rooms match perfectly. She was a neat freak; it was somewhat disturbing as to how much of a perfectionist she was. That is probably why she always has a nit to pick and acted as though she had a stick up her a*s. Part of me hated my mother, but she couldn’t have always been this beast of a woman who treated her only daughter, like dirt. Or could she have?

“Daniella!”

“Yes, Mom?” I shouted from the bathroom.

“Where are you?”

“In the bathroom, I was taking a shower.” I thought I told her last night I had to meet with the D.A.

 “When you are finished come down here, I want to talk to you.” What the hell did she want? I dried myself off, got dressed, and came downstairs to see my mother sitting on the couch with her hands folded on her lap.

“Yes, Mom?”

She sighed, “About last night.”

Was she going to apologize? Was she going to comfort me?

“Yeah, what about it?”      

“How the hell did you manage this again?” Nope, no apology.

“Mom, I really don’t have time for this.” I said standing up for myself.

“Don’t talk to me like that; you are to do as I say!”

“No.” I said with my eyes wide open, “I’m nineteen years old, I’m an adult.”

“Adult or not, as long as you live under my roof you will obey me!” What was I going to say to that? Nothing. I grabbed my purse and car keys and out the door I went. I was done with her crap. I had much more important things to do than listen to her talk to me like that.

Author's Note

what do you think of this, I know that some aspects need more research and some corrections made, but content wise, and dialogue wise, what do you think?