Red Rum.

One.

"Oh my god! You're not serious, you can't be!'' I squeak at the details at the recent date between my best friend Jessica and the extreme cutie of the rugby team at this all boy's private school downtown. "I swear! He did the whole nine-yards, he even willingly took me to Starbucks which was ADORABLE!" I can tell she is as estatic as I was giving me a bit-by-bit of the affair. 

"Ann, get down here; I need to talk to you!" my mom's voice echoes from what I assume is coming from the breakfast nook.

"Hey, Jess, I gotta go, my mom needs to talk to me."

"Oh, god, Rainne, what did you do now?"

"Nothing bad, maybe it has something to do with that ELA test I totally flunked?"

"I suppose she won't be that mad considering we all flunked it. I mean, who could even focus when you have Alvin and the Chipmunks on some serious cocaine giving a full description of their day in full detail?" 

"I know, right?"

"Annastasia Rainne Meyer!"

"Coming, Mom! -- Look, Jess, I really got to go before my mother combusts."

"Alright, just in time, Cole is calling me. We can talk later, love you."

"Love you, too!"

"Lates."

I hang up my phone and step into my slippers and walk downstairs into kitchen where my mom is sitting at the table, a packet of papers in front of her. "Open the blinds and take a seat, please." I walk over to the dark brown blinds covering the french doors next to the table and seat myself next to my mom as she takes a deep sigh.

"Look, your father and I have been talking about how we should go about with this divorce. Since our split and my custody to you, your tuition to your school is now in effect, and as of this point we cannot pay for it. The only other way we can get you the proper education is to send you to the boarding school who's tuition can be supported by my sister in Anglesey."

At first I didn't move, attempting to process the words coming from my mother's mouth then suddenly the only emotion I had towards this whole entire scenario was pure anger and disappointment. 

"Mom, you have to be joking, correct?"

"I'm not, Ann, there is no other way."

"Can't you just send me to a public school here?"

"Ann, we talked about this. Those schools here are dangerous and the quality of education is dreadful. We only want the best for you."

"We? Who is this we that you speak of? It obviously cannot be me, and it certainly cannot be that sperm donor you were dating for the first 15 years of my life!"

"Ann..."

"And what is supposed to be the best for me? Is sending me away going to be a good idea? I mean, I lost one parent because he decided to get up at leave because he got too far on his high horse to raise a child, and now I have to lose another parent because she is sending me away!" 

"Annastasia, just because I am sending you to Britain doesn't mean I do not love you! Honey, I am trying to get you successful in life so you do not have to be a financial wreck like me! I can barely pay for this apartment we are living in as run down as it is. Your father made it to the point I cannot get child support to pay for your benefits much less mine! We are going to lose this apartment and end up on the streets and all I want is for you to be in a nice shelter and well educated just so you do not have to suffer."

My mother began to tear up and so did I. Rage toward my father began to grow stronger as time passed. I ran toward my bedroom and slammed the door and stood before the wall my father and I made. For my thirteenth birthday, my father bought me a Polaroid camera. Everytime he came to his routine visit, he'd take me somewhere special like a fishing trip or a garden and we'd take photos. When we came back we decorated my wall to look like an Instagram feed. Every photo has a caption and the date it occured. The year before that, he bought me a type-writer and made the same wall look like an old Facebook feed, along with the old Polaroid photos. It made my old run down room look like a retro paradise. Even though my parents were in the process of the divorce he still never forgot me, and I loved that. As I got older he began to visit less. He remarried a few months after I turned thirteen to his assistant. His new wife has a daughter around my age but the difference between her and me is that she has his heart, and I no longer do. I follow him on Twitter and there are always photos of him and his step daughter, her room looks a lot like mine does now, only nicer. He obviously put more work into her room than he did mine, and suddenly my room doesn't look as beautiful as it was in my head. It now looks like a girl in pre-school plastered oozing glue on the back of post it notes and put it in a messy fashion all over a beige wall. It's as if the imperfection of my room has now began to unfold before my eyes, and the message of "he doesn't care" couldn't be clearer. 

I began to tear the photos, fake statuses, and cards off the wall until it is a fiasco of tape, pushpins, and chipping paint. I destroyed something beautiful that was created by me and the only male figure I loved. In the debris of photos I notice a picture of his step-daughter, Connie and me at a trip he took us. I notice the difference between the two of us. Her sun-kissed skin and golden hair to my pale skin and white-blonde hair. Her bright blue eyes and freckles bring in youth to her and my icy gray eyes bring in an aging affect to me. I see why he would prefer her over me. I see why he loved her over me. 

If I looked as disgusting as he was then I would not like anyone who looked like me either.