▼Fine China▼

▼Introduction▼

Kyle Montgomery

I was never really able to deal with pain easily. I never knew how.

Most of the time I expected to be hurt, so I rarely got too attached to anyone or anything. 

By being the most popular girl in school you'd think I'd be open, giddy, fun, and happy.

But I'm not.

Pretending, is how I get by. I hide my real feelings and pretend everything is perfectly fine. It's easier that way.

So, yeah I guess you could say i'm that mean bitch that thinks she's better than you, when actually I don't even think I'm good enough for my own parents.

No my father never beat me, my moms not a drunk, they didn't abandoned me. They've always been just there.

Which sometimes I think is worse, but never spend enough time caring. I never have enough time to care.

Lying,  I'm damn good at that. I'd like to believe that my whole life isn't a lie, but then I'd be lying to myself. 

 I'm very decieving and coniving. I'll admit that. I do alot of bad things and never get caught. Never get burned because I'm so good at this life. So good at faking.

I have a boyfriend named Quinton. Football player, rich, fine as hell, and a sweetheart.

Sometimes I feel bad because I don't like him half as much as he likes me. But he'd never know that because I play the roll of the perfect girlfriend.

I give him kisses, leave him little notes in his locker, hold his hand, text him cute bubbly messages. I go the whole nine yards.But all my walls stand tall blocking everything and everyone.

"Kyle, mother said she would like to talk to you." My little brother Karson said. That was rare. Honestly I don't think my parents believed in any personal relationships with their children. They were too high and mighty for that. Mom was a Corporate Lawyer who was always trapped in that little office of hers down stairs. Dad was a CEO and business partners with Quintons father. 

I guess you could say putting me and Quinton together closed their deal. At least that's what I think. Even though I guess you could say I was closer to my father than I was too my mother I was never a daddy's girl. I never even called my father daddy. Or my mother mommy. 

Mommy and daddy was a familar name. I wasn't familar to them, nor they to me. I didn't know them as much as they didn't no me..and that was saying something.

I put my kinky wild hair in a high bun and slid on my slippers. I walked down our spiral stair case, dreading every step.

I knocked on my mother's office door. 

"Come in." She said.  I opened the door and saw my mother in her reading glasses looking over some files.

In all honesty my mother was stunning. She had smooth brown ebony skin, and legs that seemed to go on forever. She had thick black hair that ran down her back. My mother had big light brown eyes, with extremely long eyelashes that were always coated in mascara.

I inherited her skin color, her eyes..and that's about it.

"Take a seat Kyle." I shrugged and sat on a extremely stiff chair. Probably no one ever sat in this chair.

"You've never called me down here mother, whatever you wanted must be pretty important." I said emotionless.

"Yes. Actually it is. You're father and I have been married 20 years. Those 3 years that we had to ourselves were spontaneous and loving. But I can't say I've felt the same way these past 17 years."

Was she saying that I ruined her marriage? That her children ruined her marriage?

My mom continued. "Your father and I are very independent people. We've strayed. We have very different life styles, and have thought it'd be better if we seperated."

"What?--" She cut me off.

"Now, Kyle I'm telling you this because you are the oldest. I would assume you're mature enough to take on the information. I'm sure a divorce would be worked out in the future, but we're taking things one step at a time."

"But---"

"You're dismissed now." She said looking back down at her files. I didn't say anything else. My mother was extremely impossible.

There was no use in arguing with her. Ever. I kind of felt sorry for my father. Maybe he was forced into this. 

I walked past my mom, out of her office, past my brother, and too my room. My eyes were burning with tears, and I couldn't remember the last time I cried.

I was good at this facade. Good at pretending.

But, I'm not all fake.

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