wanted | mystal

ruined

Twelve

Rowan

"Thank you for the ride," mom smiled at Michael once we made it home, "and for dinner,"

"Anytime, it was so nice to meet you, Rowan," he glanced back at me. I didn't respond, but got out of the car and slammed it shut, storming up to the front porch. I knew mom was apologizing to Michael for the outburst, feeling guilty for how I acted.

I unlocked the front door and slammed in shut, seeing Southy rushing over to me. I ignored him though and stormed into the kitchen, looking through the medicine cabinet for ibuprofen to cure my headache. "Rowan," mom called out, coming in. I grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen and opened it, digging out four pills and shutting it. Tears filled my eyes as I struggled to completely cap it. I felt her hands go over mine, which instantly made me burst out crying.

"Peanut, what's wrong?" she asked as I turned to her, letting her hold me as I cried into her shirt.

"You like Michael more than me," I sobbed loudly.

"That's not true,"

"You're going to replace me and only want him, not me,"

"You are my world, Rowan, I'll always want you," she hushed me, rubbing my back. "No one can replace you, ever,"

"My friends already replaced me, I saw them tonight," I hiccuped. "I'm not going to school, never again, I'm not," I shook my head frantically, making her pull away from the hug and cup my face.

"I will get you into that other school, ok?" she promised. "I'll send the application tomorrow, I promise. You'll make new friends at your new school instead, and we'll get everything on track,"

"Ok,"

"I promise Michael is not here to replace you, you are my priority and my world, I love you so much,"

"I remind you of dad,"

"You are nothing like him," she reassured me. "You are the opposite. It doesn't matter if your hair is similar, or your nose, and whatever the hell you think is similar. You are not like him, at all, and I don't see him in you at all,"

"Yes you do,"

"No, I don't,"

"I'm not like you,"

"You are too similar to me," she chuckled, wiping my cheeks. "Way too similar, Sierra says so all the time,"

"I'm sorry for ruining the night,"

"Nothing was ruined, I should have talked to you about this more," she ran her fingers through my hair. "And I promise Michael isn't mad. Perhaps we could go out again, for a better impression,"

"I want to go to therapy,"

"I think that's great, it could help,"

"I want medication as well,"

"Then we'll look into some and get it," she told me. "We gotta get you back on track,"