I was a mistake.
My mom had me when she was eighteen, and when she told my birth dad, he left both of us.
I inherited her blonde hair and unfortunate pale skin, but also her plump lips and her model figure. (Not to brag or anything.)
I'm in my senior year of High school, which means only a couple more months of this torture before I'm home free.
"Emma!" My mom called, and I sighed. Rolling off of my spot on my bed, I started to make my way down the wooden stair case.
She was standing by the couch, and had a man with her.
His arm was wrapped around her shoulders.
"What's going on?" I asked her, furrowing my eyebrows together.
"I know I should have told you this sooner, but I'm engaged to this wonderful man right here. This is Blake. Blake, this is Emma, my daughter." She smiled proudly.
"Nice to meet you, I guess." I said, holding my hand out to shake his.
"The pleasure's all mine." He smiled, and pressed his lips against the back of my hand.
I yanked my hand back and gave him a look of disgust.
"I can't believe you've been engaged, and haven't told me!" I exclaimed, crossing my arms tightly over my chest and tapping my foot on the ground.
"I'm sorry, but I didn't want to put up with your questions and complaining." She retorted, mirroring my actions with crossing her arms over her chest.
"You're ridiculous mom." I seethed, before pounding up the stairs and running into my room.
I slammed the door shut.
I guess I can't be too shocked, we tend to keep eachother in the dark about what goes on in our lives. She could go to Hawaii for weeks on vacation, and I'd have no clue.
I spread myself out across my bed and let out a long, exasperated sigh.
"Emma! Get back down here! Don't treat your mother like this!" Blake screamed, and I rolled my eyes.
Great.
My mom has had a string of boyfriends that tend to abuse me verbally and physically, I wonder which one he is.
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Who feels bad for Emma?
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