"I was born to make mistakes, not fake perfection."
Anonymous.
"Why do you look so happy?"
Standing there, is my mother, gaze fixated on me as I dump my bag in the nearest corner and saunter upstairs in exhaustion. I roll my eyes when I finally acknowledge the fact that she is following me, a bright-pink, magazine in hand and a stack of papers in the other. Her hair is tied back into a wild bun, strands of it falling loosely around her face and her lips are pulled into a frown of disapproval, brows furrowed.
"I've barely just walked through the door," I mutter. "There's no 'how was your day?' or 'good afternoon' or..."
"Enough," she snaps, raising a hand in front of her. "I simply want to know why you appear to be so... contented. You do realise that you haven't been exercising for a while, right?"
"Exercise?" I think. "Oh yeah! The personal training Wyatt was supposed to give me."
"You're getting lazy," mother continues as we enter my room. Taking a stroll, she inspects any object in her way, occasionally sighing when (I assume) she
thinks it's a waste of space.
During all this, I remain seated on my bed, perplexed as to why she's choosing to act this way.
Making an attempt to assess her body language, I soon discover that mother's inability to stay still, constant deep exhaling and her straight posture, suggests her intentions revolve around one thing; she wants something.
"What would you like, mother?" I ask.
Smiling, she abruptly turns around, displaying her perfectly, straight teeth. Tapping her finger on her chin and craning her neck to look at the ceiling, I sense that this is her way of pretending that she's in deep thought. Frankly, it's a poor act and the way her eyes gleam with joy, increases my discomfort.
Proceeding to sit at the chair beside my desk, mother flicks through my sketch book. The papers flutter about her and she even takes the time to rip some out. Appearing nonchalant, I internally scream and keep my head down, making a massive effort to not flinch or portray any sign of weakness. Shaking her head whilst tutting, mother tosses the book in the far corner.
"I saw you and Wyatt outside," She says.
"Of course she did," I groan, mentally face palming myself.
"Matter of fact, didn't I say you weren't allowed to see him again?"
"No."
I lied.
Jaw clenched and fingers tapping my sky- blue, maths textbook, she giggles.
"You know," she begins, "I heard that Wyatt used to date a girl named Heather..."
"What?!" How does she know about Heather? Why is she using Heather to diminish me?
"You didn't know? Well let me tell you something," she retorts, scooting closer. "She's really beautiful. As in, she's breathtakingly beautiful," she empathises, whispering the words.
"I-I know," I stutter, fumbling with my hands.
Taking note of this, my mother gently holds them, eyeing me with a tiny smirk.
"Are you nervous, Val?" She quizzes, clearly wanting to provoke me.
"No I am not," I firmly state, pulling myself away from her.
"I'm your mother, I know what effects you and what doesn't," she adds. "I'm always five steps ahead of you. Even when you believe that you're a 'perceptive observer', I know best."
Shaking, I reply:
"So if you know best, I'm guessing you've already figured out that I like Wyatt."
Silence fills the air and the sounds of traffic outside, manages to travel, forcing its way through the tiny opening of my slightly ajar window.
"I never thought you'd admit it," she snarls. "Good to know that aside from fat, you're actually kinda smart."
"Will you stop already?!" I scream. "I'm already having enough of a tough time as it is!"
Shocked, her eyes widen. However she hastily recovers, wanting to deliver her final words.
"Oh give me a break, Valentina!" Mother exclaims.
"I'm shaping you for the world! Mending the broken parts of you so that you adjust to how life works!"
"Oh cut the bullsh!t," I think. "Everything about my life is always about you! Everyone drags me into things and then I'm expects me to become the silent voice that just obliges to everyone commands!"
However I don't say anything, I just stare at her. Stare at the being that is supposed to nurture me and care for me, utterly despise me and consider me inferior.
If this is what love is like...
Then I want no part in it.