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I heard Mom calling my name from downstairs.

"Autumn, wake up! It's almost 10!" 

I rolled my eyes. Most mothers would want their daughters to get out of bed because they care or want to spend time with them. Not my mom. I know what awaits me down those stairs. Mom will be sitting at the kitchen table scrolling through some social media app, waiting to bark commands into my ears. Maybe Kent will be sitting with her, maybe he won't. His schedule is a bit more irregular than Mom's. I like to imagine it's because he's in a sketchy gas station bathroom or alleyway taking some junkie's dick up his ass. 

"I'm up!" I yell back, hoping she'll leave me alone for a few minutes, so I can get ready. I walk to the bathroom across my bedroom, ready to start my morning routine. I splash cold water in my face and brush my teeth. Drops of icy water drip down the side of my face. 

I moisturize my face and paint my eyelashes with a thin layer of mascara. I've never liked wearing a lot of makeup, it's always made me feel like an imposter in my own skin. I don't need to make myself look pretty for others. I absolutely hate when people stare at me or even perceive my presence.

I tap some blush onto my cheeks with a brush, apply some lip gloss, and throw my curly, brown hair into a messy bun. I don't bother trying to slick back my hair. I know it'll just get messed up during the day's chores. 

As I stand in front of my closet looking for my favorite sweatshirt and pair of shorts, I hear my mother's nagging voice painful scratch my ears. 

"Autumn!" She yells again. It takes all my strength to keep myself from rolling my eyes all the way into the back of my skull. One can only roll their eyes so many times until they begin to ache.

I make my way down the stairs, my bare feet pounding against each stair. As I reach the kitchen, I'm met with the eyes of my disappointed mother. She's sitting at the kitchen table with Kent, two plates of breakfast in front of them. 

"I made eggs and bacon," she says as if she cares about feeding me. I glance at the skillet on the stove, which contains a small morsel of the driest looking eggs I have ever seen. Mom has never been much of a cook. Before Dad died, he was the one that cooked all of our meals. I never went hungry when he was alive. I always looked forward to breakfast and dinner. Now, I barely eat. Mom's food is the driest, most flavorless food I've ever had the misfortune of eating, and Kent never even tries to cook. I think he's dating my mom so he can have someone clean up after him and cook him meals, even if those meals are basically inedible. I guess in his eyes, disgusting food is better than no food at all.

I'm not really sure where my mom found Kent. I don't know if he has a job or where he's from. All I know is that one day a few weeks after my dad's funeral, he just showed up in our house. My first impression of him was walking in on him and Mom in the middle of fucking one Friday night. I was absolutely disgusted, and I decided right then and there that I would hate my mom for the rest of time. Not only was Mom having sex with some asshole right after the love of her life just died, but he wasn't even a respectable guy. Kent always looks like Mom found him on the side of the road, begging for a place to stay. He's tall, lanky, and looks like he hasn't had a shower in weeks. His hair is always unkempt, his beard is always scraggly and patchy, and I don't think I've ever seen him without a lit cigarette in between his middle and forefinger. 

"I'm not hungry." 

Mom places her phone down on the table, aside her plate of food. 

"I need you to drop something off at the office for me."

"What?"

"A check. And I need you to go pick up groceries."

I force a sign from my lips.