King & Queen of Shadows

Chapter 3

"Can I help you?" the stranger asks, a little annoyed. From how fast she had opened the door I'm guessing she's expecting someone important. So, I'm not the only one disappointed here.

      "Uh, wasn't there someone else who lived here?" it slips out of my mouth much ruder then I've intended, but what's been said is said, I cannot take it back.

     "Yeah, some single Dad, right?"

      "Yes!" I chipper. "What happened to them?"

     She shrugs, "Like I know. I just moved in last night."

     "Last night?" I echo after her. Why hadn't she told me she was moving? It didn't seem like she was, nothing was packed and nothing seemed out of place, but then why is she gone?

     "Yeah, I've been waiting for this place for a while-" she stops talking after I ram myself past here and into the living room. It's empty, other than the boxes that bombarded the wooden floors, it's bare and wiped out. Where did she go? Why would she leave...without me. Without telling me, warning me in advance like I want to do for her now, at least give her a heads up, but no...

      "Hey!" shouts the woman. "Get out before I call the police!"

     "Sorry," I croak. I can't even talk from how aggravated, heartbroken, and lost I am now.

     Why? Why? Why, swims into my mind like a song I can't get rid of as I shuffle my feet on the concrete towards the station. People buzz pass me, jumping with life and purpose. I intermix with the overwhelming pool of people on the streets leading me to the city transit.

      I get home in a blur, not really seeing anything, and not wanting to see anything. My chest tightens as I pack up the last bits of my things. I don't even want to look at any of my old stuff. They all remind me to much of times I can't go back to for secured--a sense of home and being able to be myself without being ridiculed. I don't want to look over at a photo and have nostalgia all over my thumping heart as I hold on to it for a moment of bliss that I can't have back. I just can't let myself do that. I need to move on, and I need to do it for the best.

     I grab a box from the living room and cram everything I know that will get me chocked up, which is almost everything.

     "This is good," I hear outside my room, it's Mom. I look up and see her watching me pack up my borrowed belongs from Jamila. Mom hasn't said anything to me since I've gotten home, so that means Dad has covered for me like he had promised he would.

     "What's good?" I ask.

     "You taking a chance at starting over," she smiles. "It's good for you to start over again sometimes. Trust me when I say it'll be good for everybody. It's almost like a second chance."

     "But I didn't ask for a second chance. I like my old life just the way it is."

     "You're too young to understand-"

     "No," she doesn't know me well enough to state something like that. "You don't get it, do you?" I mutter hoping she hasn't heard me.

     "I get it, and I get what you're trying to say," she huffed.

     "Trying?" I huff and shake my head, "You don't get me then."

     "I know everything about you," she begins saying all the things she knows about me. "...and your favorite color is green-"

     "My favorite color hasn't been green in years," I remind her.

     She rolls her eyes, "Same thing."

     "No it's not," I snap, "I'm a different person then I was when I was younger."

     "You're still the same Amina."

     "No, I'm not that same girl," I say bleakly, folding a pair of my jeans and stuffing it into a half full box near my feet.

      Her frown deepened. "You will always be my Amina no matter what. I don't care if you're thirty and a new mom or sixty as a grandmother, you will always be the same little girl from years ago. The one you have lost sight of. You always will be her...to me," her voice softens and her eyebrows lift up, twisting her lips into a gentle grin. Only making my blood boil even more.

     That's it, it's either she can't digest the fact that I'm not the same little girl of hers from when I was younger or it's me being a difficult teenager.

     The room is beginning spin, once it does, it still holds the stiff and stuffy air of closed captivity. I'm literally in my own personal jail with my Mother as my guard. I have to leave before I explode. "Excuse me," I say and brush past her into the hallway.

     I gulp a breath of air once I'm outside on the balcony. The crisp night air burns into my lungs as I brace myself for what's going to be waiting for me in this unknown hell of a school in Oregon and the town that came with it.