Pained (Bullied Series #2) (SAMPLE)

Chapter 2

On Monday morning, I woke up feeling more downhearted than usual. I had a restless night, Hayden's words replaying in my mind on endless repeat. I was angry at myself because I felt all these opposite emotions and had to remind myself I was with Mateo. I liked Mateo, and our relationship meant a lot to me. I couldn't go back to my old story with Hayden. Besides, his words on Saturday night were clear enough.

I'd pushed Hayden away, so he had the right to be angry with me. He had every right to forget about me and move on with his life. He felt each emotion much more intensely than I would ever be able to, and I could only imagine how devastated he'd been after I rejected him. I shouldn't be so selfish. His indifference shouldn't hurt me.

My life had gotten so much better recently. I had friends and a boyfriend, and my life in school wasn't as difficult as before. My grades were amazing, and Ms. Clare had allowed me to work on my computer project at my own pace because I'd been injured and spent quite some time in the hospital. Everything was going well. So why was I unsatisfied?

And then there was that recurring voice saying "wrong." Wrong, wrong, wrong.

These vehement feelings were twisted but addictive—hot and cold, just like Hayden—and I needed to get my mind off them. Thinking about Mateo helped me remember I had a promise of a peaceful future. I should never forget who Hayden was. He'd been my enemy. He'd drowned me in his hate that scarred me forever. He'd done so many sick things to me that having a future with him was out of the question.

I just needed time. I needed more time and these feelings would disappear. They had to.

I was on my way downstairs when my phone beeped. I fished it out of my pocket and opened Mateo's text.

"Good morning, precious."

A smile tugged at my lips. He wished me good morning every day before he left for school, and this became our routine. I was slowly getting used to the fact that I texted people every day now, regularly receiving messages from Mateo, Melissa, and Jessica, and it felt great. I wasn't an unsociable loner and weirdo anymore.

I texted him back and went into the kitchen. The cigarette smoke hit me, and I wrinkled my nose, clutching the strap of my backpack. My mother was sitting at our kitchen table and reading her favorite gossip magazine, her half-smoked cigarette hanging between her fingers. My gaze landed on the ashtray in front of her. A few fresh cigarette butts already littered its shiny black bottom.

"Good morning," I muttered and opened the fridge.

"Morning," she responded blandly.

I took the milk out of the fridge with a sigh and poured the cereal and milk into my bowl. I sat across from her, placing my backpack next to my chair, and examined her exhausted, pale face as I ate my breakfast in silence. She had bags under her green eyes that held no light in them, and she got thinner, her cheeks bonier. Did she eat anything at all?

"Did you have breakfast?" I asked her.

She released smoke through her nose. "No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not hungry."

"That's not okay, mom. You should eat something. If you don't eat—"

"Stop preaching. You're not the parent here. I am." She added "Unfortunately" quietly, and my throat constricted.

I itched to get up and leave because I couldn't be in the same room as her anymore. I was always mercilessly reminded that she would never be the person I was hoping for. She had her own burden to bear, which didn't include taking care of her daughter.