To be determined.

one.

Silence.

The one thing I beg for, the one thing I desire. Silence is peace, silence is happiness, silence is the one comfort I have that assures me everything is just fine.
Sorry.
Would be.
My brain screams at me every second of everyday, no silence.
My friend squabble back and forth every single day, no silence.
But there's one sound that seems as if my eardrums are being pierced a thousand times over by sharp, hot needles.

"Scarlette, get up. It's time for school."

My mother's voice sounds from her mouth to my ears as she enters my bedroom swiftly, but oh so loudly at the same time. She walks across my room and goes through my closet, picking and prodding, searching for something for me to wear to school. I silently and sarcastically thank my mother, as if I don't know how to pick out my own clothes.

"No. I don't feel good."

I hear her scoff and mutter under her breath that this is typical of me, which isn't exactly untrue. I do stay home from school a lot, not because I don't like school, but because home, alone in my bed, is the only place where I don't feel like pulling my hair out. Plus, mom works all day so that's a bonus.

"Bullshit, Scarlett. I'm tired of this moping you've been doing. It's lazy and extremely disappointing. Get up. Breakfast will be ready in half an hour. But honestly, you might want to skip. You've put on a few pounds." She says as she walks out, slamming the door behind her.

"No mom, I don't need to stay home from school today, thanks for asking."

I should be crying right now. I mean, my mother just called me a lazy fat ass, but she's called me worse. It's times like this that make me miss dad the most, make me miss his smile, and the way his cologne smells like a sweet camp fire. It's words like "skip breakfast" that make me miss our weekly dinners that much more, and the way he always ends the night by telling me I'm perfect just the way I am. I miss my dad, but there's nothing I can do but wait, wait for my one parent while I live in a house with an imposter of one.

My mother has never been the mom to teach me how to ride a bike or help me home if I sprain my ankle. She's never been the mom to leave notes in my lunch box telling me how much she loves me and wishing me a good day. Rather, if she left a note in my lunchbox, it told me that I needed to lose weight so she packed carrots instead of chips. Fun, right? She makes it so hard to love her and so easy to hate her. But I do love her, which makes it so easy to hate myself.

Looking at the green dress my mom picked out begins to make my stomach churn, literally, so I throw the it in my laundry basket and put on white jeans with my black cropped tank. I throw my curly, auburn hair up in a messy bun and slap a couple of layers of mascara on my lashes, finishing with a layer of lip gloss, which I place in my backpack for reapplication later. I grab my keys from my dresser and make my ways down stairs.

I don't know what I expected when I went downstairs. Definitely not the smell of chocolate chip pancakes or to hear my mom singing like she used to, neither of which I experienced. But what I expected least was to see my father walking through the door and hanging his hat on the coat rack.

"There's my beautiful red-haired princess."

I stand there paralyzed for a second, wondering how the hell, why the hell my dad was home right now. Wondering how he got out, why he got out, but most importantly, worrying when he goes back. I watch him as he stretches his arms out towards me, and my brain screams at me to run to him, to hug him, to kiss him, to let him rock me and swallow me with his arms. But I can't, and it's almost as if my body needs more. 

"Mija?" He says, his smile falling slightly as his eyebrows furrow in confusion.

I'm still standing there, feeling tears sliding down my cheeks, my body refusing to wipe them away. Slowly, he begins to walk towards me, and it's then when my body begins to listen to my brain and runs to him. I didn't ask questions, I didn't say a word, I just let him hold me. I let him hold me, because I didn't know when the next opportunity would come.