Fall in Hate

Two

FALL IN HATE WRITTEN BY SPARKLINGTHENIGHTS | EDITED BY THEGRACIOUSGIFT

Alison's Perspective:

I parked my sleek, bright yellow mustang—a recent gift from my parents for my 18th birthday—in the driveway facing my house. Shutting the engine off, I grabbed my school bag as I got out of the car and then made my way up the long driveway to my door. After fumbling through my bag for my house keys, and successfully opening the wide, Victorian-style door; I walked inside and shut the door with my foot.

On most occasions, I didn't have to unlock the front door because we had a wide gate surrounding our three-story house with a code that only my family knows. But Dad travels a lot because of business and since he was currently gone, Mom and I needed to take "extra precautions to ensure our safety."

I had noticed that Mom's car wasn't in the driveway when I pulled in, meaning she obviously wasn't home. Probably out at a party, drinking a ridiculous amount of alcohol or anything else that was bad for her. She never really had a head on her shoulders, and I seriously doubted she knew common sense, much less the difference between good and bad.

My parents are opposites, so I honestly keep wondering how they got married (or are still married, for that matter). Maybe it's my Mom's looks that reeled dad in? Mom is pretty; I gotta give her that much credit. She probably was a model with her 5'9" small frame, and brunette hair, which is maybe why she's so crazily obsessed with pushing me into modeling. But Dad wasn't so bad either (for someone—you know—kind of old), with his easy-going smile and blonde, 6'2" frame.

My Dad is a workaholic and is probably the main reason my family has so much money. He has a master's degree and he's almost always gone from home—he's a geologist (you know, someone who studies the origin, structure, and history of the earth?).

He's always been a hard worker and even though I appreciate it and all, I sometimes wish he was home more often. For as long as I can remember, he's always taken business trips frequently and even when he is home, he's still working. And even though he is my dad, I feel like I barely know him.

Mom, on the other hand, was materialistic and superficial. I guess it fit her job. She spent her days criticizing people's fashion and style—on her own time, of course. Because undeniably, she had parties and celebrity events to attend, and nothing could interrupt that. Mom isn't even famous, but somehow she knows all these celebrities and gets a ton of VIP items free of charge.

Mom always claimed she wanted the best for me. ("Alison, modeling is easy and I know it's what you want. Who wouldn't want to model the hottest clothing pieces and have everyone envy you?")

But here's the sitch... Truthfully, I don't want to model. I don't know what I want to be yet, but I definitely know I don't want to be a stupid bimbo for douchey guys to jerk off to. But while I'm trying to figure out what I want to do, I'll do what my mom asks, as long as it keeps her from prying into my life.

As I made my way into the dining room, past the long spiral staircase, I pushed my parents out of my mind and dropped my bag on a dining chair and then scuffled into the kitchen. My stomach felt a little empty, so I ended up opening the refrigerator door.

I scanned through the food items on the shelves and grabbed a container of fat free yogurt. Peeling the lid off of it, I hastily trashed it and grabbed a spoon from the utensil drawer. I could really go for some ice cream, but my mom and Monica, my agent, were all about eating healthy. I hadn't eaten anything since lunch, and even then, all I ate was a tiny salad, minus the dressing.

As I spooned some of the yogurt into my mouth, I felt a sudden vibration from the butt pocket of my jeans. I smoothly pulled my iPhone out and looked at the screen, which was presently flashing Monica's name.