When It Rains [Sameena]

eight: grounded

Sam sighs as she enters her house, the familiar sound of yelling sitting in the place of a welcome home. She hears a door slam, and her mother comes running downstairs, anger fuming on her face. "Don't even begin to explain yourself, Samantha. I know you were out with that stupid Johnson."

"Stupid Johnson? Is that what you're going to be calling her? Because if so, I'm not going to be lectured by you telling me how she's such a bad person in your book. Her name is Deena, Deena Johnson. Call her that or shut it."

"Fucki- Deena. You stay away from Deena."

"Do you hate her because she's a lesbian? Is that why you always try with everything in you to keep me away from her? We live on the same street!"

"I hate her because she is messing with my daughters brain. Ruining her life. She is using you."

"Using me? That's a strong accusation coming from you. Don't act like you haven't been using me all of your life!"

She clenches her fist, taking everything in her not to take a swing at her mother right now. "You are just fucking like her."

"Thanks. I'll take that as a compliment. Though I'm not as brave, not as kind, nice, funny or caring as her. I wasn't the one who took the stabbing to my stomach, that was her. She was protecting me, your only fucking daughter and you hate her!?"

"I would've rather it been you."

Sam's expression immediately swings from anger to pure sadness. Her fist unclenches as she puts her hands together, looking at the stuffed animal in her hands. Tears slowly stream down her face as she looks at the photo of Deena, just wishing she was with her right now. But she had to go back.

She would've said she had to go home, but this wasn't home. Home is a place where you feel comfortable, loved, safe. Home isn't a place where you have to hear constant yelling and doors slamming, along with the long lines of manipulation and guilt tripping. That wasn't home. This wasn't Sam's home at all.

Sam's home was Deena.

And she wanted to go home.

"But it's because I love you," her mother continues, and Sam slowly looks up at her, so much pain in her eyes she can't even get a word out without choking on her tears. "Because you love me, huh?" she asks, her voice cracking, "you love me but you want me to be stabbed? Why? You love me but you manipulate me, you use me, you guilt trip me, you abuse me. But you claim to love me so much. If this is what love is to you, then you need to change your use of words."

Sam's mom doesn't respond, anger filled in her as she stares at her daughter. "Or maybe you should learn what love is. And it's kind of funny, you know why? I find somebody who loves me, people who love me, and I love them too, and then you try to take them all away from me."

"They're brainwashing you!"

"ONE OF THEM RISKED THEIR LIFE FOR ME!"

"She should've."

"Should've? Should've what? Risked her life? I don't know. She was just being herself. But I wanted to help. And I couldn't."

"No."

"No? What do you mean no?"

"That's not what I meant by she should've."

Sam looks up at her, confused.

"I mean it should've killed her."

Those words broke Sam into pieces, the batter of her anger and sadness spilling out all the bottled up anger and sadness. She throws a punch at her mom, immediately backing up and running upstairs, the stuffed animal and photo of Deena in her hand. She realizes her door was still knocked off, but she picks up the fallen door and places it where it would be, her mom not being able to come in as she couldn't fit through the gap of the bed and loose door.