Unlucky in Love

Because you guys asked for it, here's the first half of the first chapter of the sequel!

I never understood why people felt the desire to procreate.

What was the point? Why was it necessary? Did women want to pass down their looks and perfect hair and did men want to pass down their names? Is that why?

That wasn’t why I was created; I was created out of spite.

I did manage to fair well with money and charm, and the fact that I looked like the fifteen-year-old version of my mother Ember Devereux, except with my father’s eyes. But it’s not like my life is blissful.

The first ten years of my life were great, but things happen. My mother didn’t want us anymore, so she left. According to Ember, my father was controlling and she couldn’t deal with him anymore. So instead of just divorcing him and taking my brother and I with her, she stayed married and left for Europe all by herself.

I haven’t even talked to her in two years, and I haven’t seen her in three. It was a comfort, though. Since she was still legally tied to us, there was still the possibility of her coming back, of us being a family again.

It would be easy to say that I hated my mother, but I didn’t. She just wanted time for herself. She didn’t want to be held back.

All in all I was fine with this set-up; it taught me to believe that I can’t rely on people and that I shouldn’t get close to people. It would cause me nothing but pain in the end.

* * *

“Emma, this isn’t the first altercation you’ve been involved with—actions must be taken this time.”

“Would you believe me if I said I was trying to stop it?” I asked, throwing a glare to the person whose fault this was. “She punched my best friend—what was I supposed to do? Say, ‘now let’s all play nice?’ If she had hit me, she would be the one in trouble. But because I had the nerve to stand up to Elizabeth, I’m a hormonal bitch! That’s so fucked up!”

“Miss Nightingale, I don’t believe I need to stress how inappropriate your language or actions are at this school. I have no choice but to contact your parents.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Parents. Yeah, teachers and principals have been threatening me with that since I was in the seventh grade.

But nobody ever followed through. My life was a tragedy in their eyes. My mother was careless and selfish; my father distant and depressed. My father liked to be away as much as possible, leaving Max and me to be looked after by my Aunt Daveigh.

“This is serious, Miss Nightingale!” my principal chastised me. He was an older man; graying, getting fat, losing his eyesight…and he was a mean man. The only reason he deals with teenagers on a daily basis is because he gets presumably awesome benefits.

I rolled my eyes. “Mr. Barnes, I understand that it could’ve been handled better, but there wasn’t really time to stop and think.”

“You’ve only been a student here for three weeks, and already you’ve been in my office four times—I have no choice but to suspend you. What’s your mother’s number? I’ve already tried to contact your father, but there was no answer.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.” I said bluntly. “She left a few years ago.”

That made him pause, and he looked like he instantly regretted saying that, as if I were still burdened by my mother’s abandonment, when really, it was a nice little vacation.

* * *

“He just let it slide?” Jessica asked. She and I were walking to my place, seeing as how her mother was home and was a controlling bitch. “You’re so lucky,”

I scoffed. “It’s not luck, it’s pity.”

“Well, then, it’s luck that he took pity on you!” she said brightly. Her phone started playing the Funeral March, and we sighed, knowing it was her mom, demanding that she come home. “I have to go,” she grumbled, reading the text. “See you Monday.”

“Bye,” I said, and she nodded and started heading back down the street. She lived about a mile away from me, so she’d have a nice walk to calm herself down.

When I got home, Max was playing his video games—which is all he ever does! He used to be really into sports, but then he took it worse than any of us when Ember left. He just became introverted, and at thirteen, he needed to be social.

I really wish she could see us right now; her Daughter the Delinquent and her Son the Couch Potato. That’s what she turned us into just by the mere lack of her presence.

“Max, go outside!” I yelled, turning off the TV. He turned it back on with the remote without even retorting. I shook my head in irritation and unplugged his X Box. “Why don’t you take Summer for a walk?” I suggested, and he shook his head and sunk deeper into the couch.

As if on cue, the Golden Retriever puppy came running in, followed by Poppy, who looked so old and miserable. Poppy had been in the family since before I was born, and I was surprised she was still around. Daveigh said she was holding on until my mom came back, but I doubted a dog would be that smart. My dad bought Summer two months ago when it looked like Poppy was going pass, but she’s still limping around.

“Fine, I’ll take her.” I muttered.

“Have fun,” Max replied, standing up to plug that stupid game device back in.

I leashed the four-month-old puppy and went out the door, Summer immediately starting to run. She was energetic like me, which I greatly appreciated. I was a naturally active person, and it pissed me off to the Nth Degree that Max was so lazy. He was squandering his life, and he couldn’t care less.

During the run, I was able to block out everything; my parents, my school, my brother…

I get that every teenage girl thinks the same thing: I want to be as far away from home as possible.

But I was the exception because I actually deserved to be away from home.

* * *

I was shocked when I got back to the house. My dad was actually home for once.

I went in and let Summer off her leash, and she went to pounce all over Poppy.

My father was yelling about something in the kitchen, so I figured it was just business and decided to go upstairs, not even bothering to say hi to him. There were times that I was lonely, and this was one of them. I was in my room, down the hall from my parents’ room, in the house I’d lived in all my life. Even with my headphones blaring and Max’s video games protruding through the entire house, I could hear my dad yelling.

To him, work was more important. He didn’t used to be like that—he used to be happy.

I turned my music up louder and blocked everything out, deciding I would spend the entire weekend out of the house so as to avoid my life.