Behind every mean girl...there's a tragedy

Long overdue

I'm dedicating this chapter to the two most loyal, awesome fans I have right now. @kimoyaDOTcom and @Unicornsunite2003

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"Home, sweet home," I exclaim when I enter my dad's apartment. I jump on the couch, my baggage lying on the floor while I bathe in joy.

The papers to get me out of that place has finally been in place. My dad is still skeptical about me coming back home but it had to be done. It's not like he could afford it anyways. Steven has cut all financial support. He even took all the money out of my college fund account. Like I care, I never wanted to go to college in the first place.

I turn on the television, making myself comfortable enough to catch up on Supernatural. Dean Winchester's face appears on the screen with his inhumanly good looking smirk before everything goes dark again.

"No TV before your homework are done," my dad says.

I take the remote from him. "I haven't gone to school in a while therefore, I have no homework."

On the screen, Sam and Dean are going at it again. When will they get past their daddy issues and accept that their emotional level is as high as the one of a pregnant woman?

"Actually you do," dad turns off the TV. "I called your friend, Cassie, and asked her to pick up your homework."

My momentary happiness falls quicker than it had come. I can't believe I miss the crazy girl. I miss her endless ranting, her constant failure at fashion, and her obsession with Keeping up with the Kardashians. I miss everything about her. What wouldn't I do to have her with me one more time, forcing me to sit through another cruel episode of real housewives?

Would I do it if I had the chance? A few days ago, I would have answered no right away but now...I don't know. I need friends. That part is obvious but how far am I willing to go to get them and keep them?

"Did she do it?"

"Yes, they're inside your room on your bed so you can't miss them."

"Do I have to go back to school?"

"Of course you do. What kind of question is that?"

I begin picking some loose threads on the corner of the couch. "What if the kids make fun of me? I'm pretty sure everyone know I was in a mental hospital by now."

I've never felt so self-conscious before. When the kids had started to talk of my habits to only wear long sleeves even in hot weather, I just gave them a taste of their own medicine. This is different. I don't know how to turn the tables around. Nothing is worst than a classified crazy case.

Dad holds me by my shoulders. "If anyone says anything to you, just remind them I'm a police officer with a gun."

Giggling, I stroll toward my room but the knock on the door catches my attention.

"I'll get it," he says.

Curious to find out who has interrupt my blissful morning, I follow him to the door.

I see my dad straightening his gray buttoned-down shirt and blue jeans. He kneels down to redo the knot on his shoe laces.

"Are you going to open the door or walk a runway?"

He shushes me with his index finger on his lips. "Be extra nice."

"I'm always nice," I argue. He raises his eyebrows at me. "Fine, I'll be nice but no extra. It's hard enough on its own."