Every Word Sounds Absurd

Second and third hour passed slowly, the teachers droning on about subjects I had read up on over the summer. For lunch, I retreated to my dorm, skipping yet another meal that day in hopes of losing a few pounds.

I stared once again at the white ceiling, my eyes closing and deep breaths entering through my nose and leaving through my mouth. My mind wandered to many places, to many memories. The ones that hurt the most still fresh in my mind.

"Special, Michael? This little bitch is anything but special!" My mother gritted her teeth, shooting a glare at my father. I could see the muscles in his neck tense in anger, his grip on the edge of our mahogany dining room table growing immensely.

"She is special, Adrienne. She's smart and witty and funny and beautiful- she has dreams, Aid. Big, reachable dreams. She can and will be someone important. She's important to me, Adrienne. She has been since the day I found out you were pregnant. And I refuse to let you break her down because she's 'not what you want." I felt the tears prick in corners of my eyes, pulling the sleeve of my hand-knit sweater over my knuckles as I brought my hand up to cover my lips as they quivered profusely. My mother rolled her eyes, a snarky smirk gracing her botox-injected lips. "Dreams? Astronomy is a fucking joke. There's no money in that!"

My father's body grew tense, his posture straightening as he crossed his arms firmly across his chest. "Money isn't everything, Adrienne." She scoffed, a sneer appearing on her face now. "It should be! Have you seen how she dresses?! Her whole closet is full of those hideous frump sweaters! She dresses like your father!" She gestured to my current attire of conservative jeans and an oversized, dark blue sweater.

"Just because she doesn't degrade herself in slutty clothes like you did and still do doesn't give you a right to insult her; she has feelings. She's a sweet young girl who needs her mother's love, but you just can't give that to her, can you?" My father shook his head at her, the disgust evident on his face. "You've never loved this poor angel the way she deserves to be loved. You should be ashamed of yourself." My father's hand made it's way to rest on top of mine, rubbing it reassuringly. The hot tears were now streaming down my cheeks, my eyes puffy and red behind my large, black rimmed glasses.

Mother's gaze met mine, a cold, heartless look in her eyes. "You're tearing my marriage apart, you little bitch. Don't you think for a second that I'll let you get away with this." With that, she stalked off somewhere into our massive home, her Jimmy Choo's clicking against the hardwood flooring.

I felt myself let out a strangled sob, my hand now cupping over my mouth in an attempt to contain it, my eyes clamping shut, hoping to hold in the tears. Father quickly pulled out the chair next to mine, pulling my into his chest as I cried; the pain in my soul was the worst I'd felt in my entire life. "Shh, sweetheart.." he cooed, rubbing my back soothingly. "You can be anything you want. I believe in you, Anastasia. I love you."

My eyes welled with tears behind my lids, my lower lip quivering as I relived the pain all over again.

If my own mother- the woman who carried me for six months before endusing her own labor to have me via a caesarian and gave me the pitiful life I now lead- couldn't find the heart to love me, how could anyone else ever be able to?