92 days

eight

I awoke to a bright light beaming into my eyes, my mother pulling back the curtains of the paned glass windows causing metal to scrape against metal loudly. When she senses my slight movements she spins around and faces me, then sits by me on the bed.

I stare up at her piercing eyes along with the reflecting of the sun, holding my hand up in my face so I can see her clearly.

"Edna told me there was there a boy here, asking for you?" She questioned with a suspicious glare. "Who is he?"

I roll over on my bed, turning so that I'm not facing her. "I don't know." I mumbled in the covers. I feel her firm hand grasp the side of my stomach, and she turns me back over roughly.

"Stop." I murmured.

"Who was he?" She asked again, quieting her tone but making it more serious than it was before.

"I don't know, mother. Do you think I have enough time to be meeting new people? No." I growl, lifting myself up from the pillow. "And besides you hardly let me out the house and I'm almost seventeen."

Her expression looks as if she's comprehending my words, and she simply stands back up and strides out of the room, slamming the door.

This is the most draining vacation we've ever taken. I can't help but feel like it's because during the others... I wasn't being forced into a relationship with someone I barely knew.

Me and Ethan have been around each other when we were young. I don't remember everything, but my mother and Elizabeth have always been good friends, so we would have play dates way back then.

I was only around 5, until the Millers moved to San Francisco. I'm guessing she and my mother must've had a recent chat before we left home, and that's why we are here now.

but even though we were around each other when we were little, I still don't know him.

-

Later throughout the day, I've done nothing but sulk around the house, waiting for something interesting to happen.

My mother designs wedding dresses for a living, so I caught her scurrying out of the door with a huge white dress in her arms, that had a long plastic seal over it.

My father is currently dealing with an important court case.

Lying down on the couch, I reflect on the words that left Roman's mouth.

"Some of us actually have to work for what we need, not everyone has mommy and daddy's money to depend on for the rest of their lives."

I just feel so helpless. Like I can't do anything to benefit myself, or anyone else.

I want a job.

I want to work for my own money, and maybe, just maybe, I'll start being treated with more respect around the house.

Those words he spoke to me hurt, but they were true. I've leaped over every hard obstacle I could've had in my childhood. I never had to worry that much, not at all actually. I'm grateful. Very grateful for everything that I've had easy, but I want to do things for myself now. I want to work hard for the things I need too.

I just feel like I'm the only one not doing that.

I rush up the steps, and slip into my parents room in search for my father's laptop. I spot the silver case on the dresser, I snatch it and hurry back down the steps and onto the couch.

I open the laptop and stare blankly at the search bar with no clue where I would want to work.

I look up open jobs in San Francisco, along with the town and all, biting my nails in anxiousness, hoping that something would be pleasing to my eye.