I love you not because of anything you have, but because of something that I feel when I’m near you.


3. Summer

*Flashback from ten years ago*
"Give me my laptop back, you motherfucker!"

"No! You are cheating on me. You're such a fucking liar!"

"I'm not cheating on you, they're just my friends!"

"Why don't you pay any attention towards me then? I'm your husband!"

"You never wanted my attention for all of these years and then you come back from a trip and now you want my attention? I have children to take care of too."

"I'm hiding this from you."

"No you're not!"

All of a sudden, my mom was pounding punches on my dads red, hairy back like pressing the trigger on a machine gun and the bullets zooming out of its shell...


*Present time*
Today is the first day of summer. June 21st, where I can finally get away with wearing high waisted shorts and bustiers, even though I do anyway. I guess you can call me a rebel by my clothing but I don't really have a social life. Yeah I go to parties and shit but I don't have many friends. I've had friends in the past but I lost them because of who I am. Or who I think I am. All I know is that I'm a hopeless grunge who's ready to break free. But I can't do anything without my mum up my butt 24/7. She doesn't want me to be like her or my father. I tell her all of the time I would never drink because 1 its stupid and idiotic and 2 there are no happy drunks in my family. So if I ever did get addicted, I would be stupid, miserable bum.
I open my ocean blue eyes and flutter and blink for a few seconds until I notice my ceiling. What a nice looking ceiling, huh? I thought. My ceiling is painted like a galaxy with the sun and the moon opposite from each other. You can give thanks and praise to my lovely mum. Geez, this British culture is really getting to me. The perks of being British is that you're known for great music and musicians like Adele, Mumford and Sons, The Rolling Stones, etc. Speaking of music, I listen to a lot of soft, acoustic music, but yet I also listen to lots of metal music. 

My thoughts were interrupted by my obnoxious mother.

"Andie! Lets go, you're going to be late for therapy!"

"Coming," I slightly shout. Oh, I forgot to tell you, I sort of need mental help because of all the mess that happened. My mum is convinced that I'm crazy. I pop the pills too if you're wondering because it just makes everything less painful. Anxiety is my number one killer.

I force myself out of my purple sheets and fumble over to my drawer. I pull out acid - washed short shorts, a cream, lace bustier and an open, denim shirt. To accompany my outfit, I add some gold studded black combat boots. I throw my hair up into a messy bun with little hairs flying all over my oily skin. "Today is gonna be a fabulous day," I say sarcastically.

slowly trudge the creaky and elderly, wooden stairs and into the kitchen. I see plates filling up the table. Pancakes, eggs, bacon, you name it. I have many problems but I know for a fact that I'll never be anorexic or bulimic because I love food too much. 

"Good, you're up," my mom says. She hurries over and gives me the warmest, generous hug anyone could give. I love my mom for trying to fight the addiction for Lillie, Brooks and me. She's amazing and strong. 

"Thanks for the food mum," I speak. 

"Anything for my babygirl," she replies. My mom is Italian, Russian and English so she cooks like a pro. 

"So, have you heard about that new boy band, One Direction?" my mom asks.

"Yeah, they're all right I guess."

"They seem like polite lads," my mom persuades. 


"How about we get going to that therapy session of yours?" My mom half demands, half questions. 

"Of course! Why wouldn't I want to go sit down for 2 hours and talk about my problems?" I speak sarcastically. 

"As long I don't see your dead body hanging from my door, you don't have to go," Cheryl explains. 

"So, I don't have to go?" I happily ask.

"Uh, no, you're still going. Hurry up and eat, we're going to be late."

I grab a plate and pile up bacon, pancakes, toast and some orange juice. I scarf down the wonderfully made breakfast and drink the rest of my juice. I skip into the bathroom and brush my teeth quickly and rapidly. I spit several times into the white, porcelain sink. I rinse my pink toothbrush and plop it into the silver holder. I check myself in the clear, newly - washed mirror to see if anything is out of place. I move my brunette curly, little hair onto my clear, soft skin. Perfect.

By the time I'm out of the bathroom, my mum is already in the car. Shit. Why is she so impatient? I jog out of the flat and I gracefully trip and fall down the stairs, banging my head on the floor. "Well, that was quicker than running down," I mumble. I pull myself up by the bars and limp outside.

The warm, humid air is going to make my hair look like an afro. My mom pulls out of the parking space and drives towards me. She presses on her brakes and rolls down the window.

"You're hair is going to rock today," she laughs.

"Ugh." I hop to the passenger seat and jump right into my position. Feet on the dash and hands behind my brunette, blonde highlighted hair. The windows are down, Passenger is playing and the sun is out. I really do think this day is gonna be beautiful.

Why wouldn't it?



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