"Ugh, mom and her homophobic tendencies. Just because being gay isn't allowed in the bible, doesn't mean that they shouldn't support you. There's a 99.99% chance the bible has been doctored, anyway." my sister states. I grab the soft cloud sitting atop the mattress covers and bury my head in it.

"It's fine, Lea. It's not fair, yes," I take a breath, "But she is still our parent, our guardian. It's up to her what she decides to hold in her house. 'Sides," I turn to look at her. "the world isn't fair." I shrug. Leanna is visibly mad.

"Just because she is our mom doesn't mean that gives her the right to treat you like this! Why did mom even want to know this stupid information?" Lea whisper-shouted. I look at her with sympathy and relaxedness painted on my face.

"Mom wants to know if she's going to kick me out or not Leanna," I mutter. I squish the pillow, trying to take Raquel's advice. I have some anger issues. I feel like crying. I throw the pillow across the room with force, it making a loud noise as it collides with the wall. Leanna looks down, shaking her head and tsking. I exit.

I go over to my bed, my little heaven, and lay soundly in it for a few minutes. I feel the comforting sheets and mattress holding up my weight. I let my mind skim through all the memories I have of my parents; them fighting, them being toxic, them being abusive. I don't want to think these negative thoughts so I attempt to clear my head.

And I am going to do just that.

I get up to my school desk to do my stupid calc homework. I open up my backpack and grab the folder containing all of my homework and tests and stuff about calculus. This heavy folder kills my vibes to do homework and I put the homework to the side and grab my sketchbook. As I flip through its delicate, crisp pages, I strain my ears for any sound of activity. I can hear my mom pacing in the kitchen, her footsteps are brief but deep and her knees crackle when they move.

When you are scared of your parents, you develop some pretty weird traits.

When I get to a blank page, I go to grab my mechanical pencil when I smell something. My favorite soup is cooking right now. I can't describe what the heavenly smell smells like because I'm not good at describing little things like that. But geez, if you have never tried this soup you are MISSING OUT. Like seriously.

I stop acting like a little kid who just discovered markers and notice I'm getting off track so I shake my head and get back to my drawing.

I also realize that I have been pressing my pencil into the paper and now there's a black void in the middle of my paper. "This won't erase," I mutter under my breath. I flip the page and realize the void has infected this page as well. I flip to a new blank page and start looking around my room for something to draw.

My eyes flick through my room at rapid speed, like pages of a book when someone is flipping through them. My eyes dart around random things until they land on my greek statue that I always forget the name of. Its stony exterior glistening in the sunlight will be the perfect subject. I turn my chair to face the window where I'm overwhelmed by sun kisses. I turn my face away, in an attempt to salvage my near-blind eyes. I look back and start outlining the statue. After a few seconds of sketching, I give up. Like my sister once said, I'm indecisive. I turn my wheelie chair back towards my desk and place my sketchbook down. I grab the homework folder but hesitate before putting it back. No homework today, calculus. I won't die before I'm even born!

I scoot my wheelie chair to my second desk, except this one is on the opposite side of the room. I know I have a lot of nice things. You might be wondering, "What a spoiled little brat this kid is," but let me tell you you are far, faR, fAR AWAY from the truth. I'm probably;y the one far away from the truth. I mean, why in the HELL would you think that? I'm too awesome to be a brat.

But I'm still going to brag.

I bought everything I own (basically) with my own money. You see, I own a small business. A candle and crystal one. Though, I just recently started selling crystals. I make so much profit even my parents ask me for money from time to time. My mom mostly asks me for cigarettes (Which I don't know why I give her the money. She abuses me and is toxic), even though she says she needs it to pay rent. Same with my dad, except instead of cigarettes, it's alcohol. I don't why I waste my money on such hypocrites. Enough about my parents though.

The shop's name is "Kiddie Krystals and Kandles" and I sell on Etsy, though I am currently working on a website.

I turn on my wax melter and get out my soy wax from underneath the desk. It's really heavy since I ordered a new bag recently. As I wait for the machinery to heat up, I open my Macbook so I can see my orders. The first order reads:

Royal Collection (Candles)

Green Aventurine Tumble

Tigers Eye Tower

Rainbow Candle with Mystery Surprise

+2 Scoops of Crystal Confetti

I pour the wax bits into the sizzling tin that's ready to melt. I stand from my seat to go to my bookshelf right next to my desk and reach my hand out to grab the Royal Red, Royal Blue, Royal Green, and Royal Yellow scented candles.

I had some of these in stock already, so I didn't have to make them. I put them on my desk and wrapped them up so that they were ready for shipping. I'll save you all the boring, icky details. I finish packing their order and I get to work on restocking. I take some orange and pink dye from the top left drawer of the desk and pour 3 drops of each. I'm trying to get this nice pinkish color. While that's churning, I put the candle wicks into the molds so they'll be candles. Now, I go check on my mango-colored wax. Since I got the shade I liked, I pour the melted wax into female body molds. These types of candles are super popular or something.

Once I finished pouring the hot, oily wax into its cold, smooth molds, I set them down in the room next door. I can't have them in my room since I will probably kick them out of the park at midnight so I had my dad change the old nursery to be my workspace/drying area. I'm still in the process of moving my work materials there. I set the last candle down and I hear my mom calling my name.

"LOPEZ," I hear her cry, "COME DOWN HERE. NOW". I hear my mom once again pacing across the room and I can't help but think my report card came in because, let's face it, I suck at school.

I stop what I'm doing and I head down the stairs. I go to the dining room where I see my mom pacing around with a sheet of paper in her hand like a blood vessel just waiting to burst as I enter the room.

"Yes, mother?" I ask with an uneasy tone. "What is it?"

"I pay for your house, your food, and I wake up to take you to school and I leave work to bring you back home and this IS WHAT I GET IN RETURN?!"

She hands me the sheet of paper with an indescribable amount of force. As I grab the sheet and see it was indeed my report card. I have all F's and D's. Feeling my mom's stare of disappointment burning into my forehead, I look up at her.

She starts walking toward me and I can hear her knees clicking, like the annoying faulty buttons they are. I start walking back because fear is bubbling up inside me like magma in a volcano. I keep walking back, ready to bolt out but my back hits the wall.

"Calmate, AHORA," my mom screams at me. The Spanish means "calm down now".

She swoops my legs from under me and I fall onto the cold, wooden floor. The pain comes quick but most of it's gone in a flash. I can feel saltwater drops tempting my eyes but I keep them from falling. I wipe my eyes, sniff, and begin to stand up when I feel my mom's sweaty palm make contact with my bare skin, the sting still lingering on my face.

I let out a little yelp of pain and I can feel my lip trembling, my fear on its highest setting. I sniff so the tears don't start falling though I want them to fall. I attempt to stand up but fall and trip over myself because I can't see anything, I can only see black. I look at my mom to see her mocking me.

"Oh, look at me! My name is Lopez and I trip over everything." I see her grimace. Then she clicks her tongue. "Get OUT of my sight, Lopez," she shouts, with anger trickling on her tongue. I stand up and begin walking towards the stairs and I look back, where I see my mom do a little jump like she is going to start running towards me. I quickly turn back, my neck hurting and I sprint up the stairs as those salt tears come rolling down in the dozens, mixing in with the blood bleeding down from my nose.

I grab my phone and look out the window and sure enough, it's raining. I know my mom would look for me, but not until it stops raining. She's scared of getting a cold, what a baby. I sniff my nose and put on a black hoodie and hesitate to bring my phone.

"Mom could track my location," I mutter as quietly as I can. I don't think I could even hear myself say that. I open the door and lock it before I leave so my mom won't come into my room and look through my stuff. I also close my workroom because she will probably smash the stuff in there. I tiptoe down the stairs as quietly as I can and I look around, seeing my mom outside smoking her stupid cigarettes. She makes me sick.

If I ever have kids, I won't be like her. Not ever. I shake my head and open the door ever so slightly, limiting the amount of noise the door produces.

I hear the click-clacking of the rain hitting the cement sidewalk.

I think to myself, "Where am I even going? The closest public location from here is the Church. Oh well." I believe in God, I just don't support him or send offerings to him. The cold rain wetting all of me feels refreshing for some reason. You know, this is kind of a main character moment. Leaving home, y'know? It's sad cause I'm not even a main character. I'm more like a nobody-side character.

The road to the church is full of cars, maybe they're having some sort of party. Even if there's a party going on I will still go. Not inside, of course. Like my mother would say, I'd be a sinner in church. She wouldn't be lying. I'm a witch and they're supposedly banned from churches.

I take a breath and start heading to the back of the church, my safe spot. I've been here so many times, the priest even set up a little spot so I can store snacks. I sit down on the moist grass, the wet mud feels weird when I sit. I lay back on the brick wall, dripping with rainwater. My head feels clear, but only for a moment, the thoughts of what happened earlier flood my brain and I feel those tears welling up in my eyes.

It's a good thing that it's raining. If anyone sees me, they won't think I'm crying, unless they hear me sobbing like a maniac. I decide to let all those tears that have been holding me in restraints. I feel the relief wash over me as my chest begins feeling empty and I just sit there, crying my heart out with the nippy water dripping over me.

I wrap my arms around myself and scream. I scream loud. I know I should control myself, drink some water, and stop crying but I don't.

I feel my hands shaking and I can't stop myself. It just keeps going and going, like rice that never runs out. I try to control myself but it's no use. What's the point in calming a starving bear from eating a human? I can feel myself begin to hyperventilate and I know a panic attack is coming on. I've never been able to prevent one of them by myself, I always needed another person. I can feel my blood pressure rising and my chest feels so heavy when it was once empty.

I can hear the light squelching of the mudded grass from someone or something walking near me. I quickly put on my hood so that it almost covers my whole face. I close my eyes and back-count 100 by 3s. My friend once said, "Counting backward from 100 by 3's helps most anxiety/panic attacks."

I can feel this mystery person's presence as they come to sit down next to me. I turn my head farther, my tears starting to dry up. The mystery person grabs my chin and turns my head so that I'm facing them. I can see the boy's features glistening in the moonlight. Wait, the moon? I thought it was still light out, not dark. Oh, no. My dad is probably home.

Don't worry about that now, I tell myself, though noticing that fact just increases the worry even more. I put my hands over my ears and start counting backward from 100 again.

"Hey, hey. Calm down," his voice is soft and reassuring, "it will be alright." He takes my hands and holds them in his. "Breathe with me, alright? No, no, look at me." I look into his blue eyes, his beauty taking my breath away.