I was sitting at my vanity when my mother finally showed herself. She walked into my room like a queen gracing me with her presence. It was almost two in the morning. I’d thought she was sleeping; based on her appearance, that wasn’t the case.

I had no idea where she spent all her time.

She’d been leaving me alone for hours upon hours since I was a little girl. My father traveled a lot, so he wasn’t aware she locked me in a closet - or sometimes the basement - when she had places to be.

That obviously wasn’t feasible anymore, but there were still days where we didn’t see or speak to one another.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                

Without my permission, she waltzed up and began running her talon-like fingers through my dark hair. I watched her brown eyes scan over every inch of me. I sat studying her just the same. Did she know I’d already killed her in my head fifteen different ways?

My favorite was with her flat iron. I’d lodge it in her throat and burn her from the inside out. The smell of her burning flesh would give me so much joy. Then she would know how bad the ceramic plates hurt when she used to press them into my skin.

Of course, I would never actually hurt her. I was a good girl; it was my mind that was rotten.

Her floral scented perfume was making my stomach turn. She had to have used half the bottle to smell so strongly. And her crows’ feet were getting worse; I could see where she tried to cover them with some makeup.

I didn’t know how old she was, but neither Annie, my older sister, or I looked anything like her. Glenda had dark, natural red hair, and was pencil thin. Annie was a dirty blonde with brown eyes and an athletic build. And I was dark haired with electric blue eyes. None of us fit the description of the other; we each had drastically different personalities.

“So, did anything exciting happen today?”

“What do you mean by exciting?” I kept my tone light, but her question put me on guard. She never asked me anything about my day, and I knew she couldn’t care less.

Did she set me up? It wouldn’t surprise me. My mother did whatever she had to to coerce me into staying home. It was that simple fact that made me decide not to tell her about the car.

“This is Redwood. We both know nothing exciting happened.” I stated dryly.

She froze with her fingers still in my hair.

“Your mouth has been getting worse and worse lately,” she reprimanded me in her usual sharp tone. “That isn’t how you speak to your mother. After everything I’ve given up to raise you, I deserve your utmost respect.”

It didn’t work like it once had, and her traditional adage had long ago begun to irritate me. She complained about having to raise her children, but wasn’t that generally what a mother did?

She believed she had the right to control me, even now I was an adult. I was expected to honor her, and pay homage, just because I was her daughter. She wanted me to be her idea of perfect. Ignore the fact that there was a whole world out there; I never got to explore, never spoke up for myself, and did exactly as I was told.

Unfortunately for her, I was far from her definition of perfection. Her opinions and controlling nature were beginning to not hold water.

I think she was becoming aware of that every time she talked to me as if I were an invalid. I may have been a little different, but I was far from stupid.

“I’m tired.” Gently knocking her skeletal hand from my hair, I stood up and walked towards my bed with every intention of going to sleep.

“Don’t forget, I’ll be leaving tomorrow afternoon. When I get back, I expect you to be packed and ready to go.”

She was straightening out her peach colored suit-dress and walking out of my room before the last word fell from her mouth. She flipped the light off and shut the door behind her.

Shaking my head, I climbed into bed after turning on my bedside lamp. Glenda hadn’t been this controlling when it came to my older sister. Annie had been allowed to attend school, go to prom, and even have a few boyfriends.

She wasn’t around anymore. At first, she stuck it out for my benefit, but the day after her nineteenth birthday was her breaking point.

Seven years have passed, and she still hasn’t come back. Not for a visit, or even a check-up.

My father left late one night after another of his and my mother’s many arguments. The next morning, not a single picture of him was on the walls, and he never returned. That was four years ago, but the hurt from his abandonment was a wide-open wound.

My mother drove people away. She was like a leech sucking the life out of me. Settling beneath my comforter, I stared up at the popcorn ceiling, waiting for sleep to come. It was nights like these I hated the most. There was nothing worse than being alone.

When I asked myself how many people would mourn me when I was gone, the answer was none.

I’d be forgotten the second the dirt hit my casket.