Breaking

Chapter 1.

"Arabella!" Momma calls from her bedroom, her voice thick with annoyance. I roll my eyes and ignore her as I continue making dinner. It's nothing special, just scrambled eggs and French toast, the only thing I really know how to make. Breakfast for a late dinner never hurt anybody. "Bella!" Momma roars. Now that catches my attention, she knows I hate being called Bella. I turn off the burner and hurry to her room. 

"I'm not helping you pick out underwear!" I shout before entering her room. I find her standing in the entrance of her walk-in closet, wearing nothing but underwear. "Momma," I groan.

"Help me pick a dress!" She rushes out. I cross the room to her and pull out the first thing my eyes land on; a black, short, off-the-shoulder dress. "No, I already wore that!" She snaps at me then turns back to her closet, violently going through her clothes. The plastic hangers scrape across the closet's bar and I wince at the shrieking noise it makes.

And then her words sink in, and I narrow my eyes at her. "What do you mean 'I already wore that'? You've been with this guy before?"

"I don't have time for this, Arabella." She waves me off and hurries out of the room.

"Momma!" I shout, following her into my bedroom. "Have you seen this guy before?" I ask, folding my arms over my chest. Normally, I don't care who she sleeps with because she's only with them once, that way she doesn't get emotionally attached and I don't have to deal with her crying and complaining and constantly getting high more than usual when they leave her. It saves us both a lot of trouble if I keep her in place.

"Where are your dresses?"

"Momma!" She yanks my drawers open and begins tosses out whatever her hands find. I take a forced, deep breath. "Momma, we're different sizes," I remind her, and she freezes. "How long, momma?"

"It's only been a week," she whispers, then runs out of my room.

Oh, momma. A week? Really? How could she let this happen?

A week? An entire week of my mother picking someone over me, but I'm the one that has to pick up the pieces when she falls apart. She'll be off her face for months if this guy ghosts her.

Pure rage pulses through me, radiating off me, and leaves me trembling. I grab the closest thing on my dresser and throw it across the room. "Fuck!" I growl when I realize I grabbed my phone. It lies on the middle of the floor surrounded by pieces of its screen. I pick it up and there's an instant pain in my hand. I hiss in pain, dropping my completely damaged phone.

"Your food's getting cold!" Momma shouts, then I hear the front door open and close.

"Love you too," I mumble and pick tiny shards of glass out of my fingers and palm of my hand.

Momma didn't return until one in the morning. She passed out the moment she reached her bed. I removed her high heels-she went with the black dress I suggested-and her earrings. I put her hair in a side braid, then I wiped off her smeared makeup with baby wipes.

Once I know she's fine, I sit on the edge of the bed with her phone in my hands.

The last person she texted was a message to buzz them in. She has them in her contacts under Dreams. I roll my eyes and check his contact information. Momma puts everyone's address in their contacts. Now that I have the information I need, I send for a Uber and wait.

I wait nearly fifteen minutes outside on a cold November night before someone finally leaves the apartment building. I crash my hand in the heavy door and my hand starts to bleed again. But at least I caught the door and I'm inside. I take the elevator to the top floor and approach apartment 3F. I bang on the door, not holding back. It's late and given how my mother was just here, the guy's probably passed out.