Nine months earlier…

My heart was still heavy from the phone call I'd received two days ago from my best friend Giselle. I had hoped I'd feel better today but unfortunately that doesn't seem to be the case at the moment.

Rolling over to the other side of my bed, I reach for my phone on the night stand and I have three messages and five missed calls from Giselle which wouldn't be unusual on a normal day but seeing as we had hung out last night. I wonder what could have gone wrong. Knowing Giselle, It's impossible not to have a bad day. But it's also 9:30 on the clock and before I could realize what I was doing, I'd already gotten out of my bed and made a mad dash for the bathroom to get ready for the day but suddenly a familiar sinking feeling returns and it dawns on me that the time on the clock would have gotten me into trouble on a normal day or what had become my normal day but everything's changed now.

Sighing dejectedly, I walk back into my room and crawl into bed but I'm so hungry, it's so hard to focus on going back to sleep so I grab my phone again and open my message box to check he messages from Giselle but it held no information on why she'd been calling. I slip my phone into the pocket of my pajama pants, making a mental note to call Giselle when I have gotten some food into my stomach because trust me that's the best way to deal with best friend related problems, especially my best friend.

I head down the stairs and make my way into the kitchen looking clean and spotless as ever. You'd think no one ever used the expensive state of the art equipment I here but thanks to the well paid maids, every corner has been cleaned and washed in contrast to what I remember it looking like. Not like we used to have a messy kitchen but it smelled of butter and cream especially after mom's daily baking but most importantly it smelt of love and warmth.

I push those memories back to the trash icon in my head and reach into the fridge to grab my breakfast. Knowing our housekeeper Mrs. Taylor, she must have prepared my favorite before leaving this morning. I quickly throw into the microwave. The house is eerily quiet. It's the one thing I haven't gotten used to. I do like my peace and quiet but when you're used to all the love and warmth that once made this house a home, you would understand. The microwave beeps indicating that my meal is ready, so I take it out and head out of the kitchen not bothering to turn it into a dinning plate. I make my way back to the stairs leading to my room but I stop in my tracks when I notice the door to my mom's room ajar which is quite unusual seeing as it always locked.

I should walk away like I've always done since everything went to shit but my legs seem to have a mind of their own. I push the door open as quietly as I can and step into the dimly lit room and try not to barf as the stench of cheap alcohol fill my lungs. This is another sight I should het used to but sometimes I still think this is all a bad dream. My mom is passed out in the pool of her own vomit a foot away from her bed. She must have been trying to get to the bathroom. I'm unable to stop the tears from down this time as I crouch down besides the woman who was once my world. Her once luxurious blonde curls now turned brown and looked like it hasn't been washed in years. And knowing how worse her condition has deteriorated over the years, I won't be surprised if that were the case.

To be honest, I don't know how I feel anymore when it comes to her. At first, it was anger and then intense hatred but now I think it's just pity. Pity for the woman she once was. I take one last look at her and quietly walk out the door pulling it shut.

I head back to my room but my mood is completely ruined and so is my appetite, so I place my meal on my reading table and head into my bathroom to freshen up. Fifteen minutes later I'm done and I slip into a pair of black leggings, white crop t-shirt and a denim jacket. I had only gotten my hair braided two days ago so it still hurt to put it up into ponytail so I leave it flowing down my back. It's almost 12 on the clock now, so I quickly grab my backpack and laptop and dial Giselle's number while I hurry down the stairs to get to the garage.

She picks up after the third ring.

"Hey rainbow". Giselle greets in her signature sultry voice. She is such a fine sweet talker, It's practically impossible to deny her a thing.

"Gigi, please tell me you're awake". I can tell she just rolled her eyes at that statement.

"You're the one who didn't return any of my calls or messages". She snorts on the other end of the line.

"I was going to but it slipped my mind. I'm sorry". I plead hoping whatever she wanted to talk about wasn't consequential.

"It's alright. We'll talk about it later". She responds.

"Okay. I'm on my way to the library now so meet me there".

"Why don't you come pick me up?" She whines.

"I'm late already Gigi". I say with finality in my tone. She knows how much this job means to me and that I also need the income if not for any reason at least to feel like I have an edge over my current situation.

"Alright see you in a few. Love you".

"Love you too, bye".

I'm about to head to the back door leading into the garage when I hear giggles and the click clack of heels followed by the deep baritone of a man's voice. I turn around, primarily out of surprise, only to find my father with his arms around the waist of a petite red haired lady in a killer red dress with a plunging neckline that left nothing to the imagination. Again this is a sight I should get used to nut he never brought his whores home before or maybe I've isolated myself so much from my own life, I'm blind to everything going on around me.

He must have noticed someone was watching him, because he looks up and our eyes meet. I watch as his gaze changes from surprise to disgust and then indifference. Sometimes I wonder if I'm truly my father's daughter but then I have his piercing ocean blue eyes and full lips. In fact, I'm a spitting image of my father. I wonder if that's the reason why my own mother won't see me anymore or the reason why my own father can't look at me anymore without making me feel like the dirt underneath his designer shoes. I reluctantly look away and quickly walk to the garage before I do something stupid like calling him dad.

I used to be the product of a great love story, now I'm just a reminder of all that is left of the ashes of its decay.