The Mess I Made

From the moment I was brought into the world, I knew something about me would mark me different from the rest. I'm not saying I was destined for greatness because I'm fairly sure God would have given me a sign. Though, even by being her daughter when she never wanted children is a greatness within itself.

I know my mother doesn't regret me, she just regrets the man who is my father. I've yet to meet him, but it's for the best. Fifteen, young, and naive. Just like Mother at her age, or so I've been told.
It's always been me and her, the two of us, I mean. No grandmother, no grandfather, no relatives to speak of, really.

Until, that is, Samantha was thrust upon us both. I say thrust because she wasn't planned, either. Now, Samantha isn't biologically my sister, but legally she is. Olivia couldn't have been more surprised, though Elliot told me something like this would happen.

How do we go about our daily lives when someone new is thrown into the equation? How will we go from hating each other to becoming a perfect, happy family? What complications with arise? How will love fit into each of our stories?

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Well, you could call me Samantha. I'd rather Sam, to be honest though. That's what I told the lady who's house I was dumped into. You see, I wasn't really loved at home. I wasn't beat or raped which was probably a relief to the person that took me in. She calls herself Olivia, but I think she wants me to call her Mom.

I can't right now though. My mom is the woman who did drugs and fed me bread. No, I wasn't starved. I had it hard, but it never changed me. I'm still the same wise-ass I'll always be and proud of it. If you want to know the truth, I didn't want to leave. Me and my mom were survivors and this is nothing like where I came from.

I don't know what to do here besides be me: "Sam Benson". Wish me luck.