My heart skips a beat and my lungs collapse after being struck straight in the chest. Beads of sweat began to roll down my face, along with inevitable tears, a grim mixture plastered over my drenched face. My throat smoldered with intense heat, and it burned like the eyes glaring at me with pure hatred. A monster towering over it's vulnerable victim .This was not the man I knew. The man I loved as an attentive guidance. The man I never thought would do such thing. I gazed through his eyes, the eyes that endorsed evil; something from the look of his face, I have never seen in my life. I looked at his inhumane and remorseless look on his face in shock, with my back pressed violently against the rough corner of the cramped room with no place to escape; perhaps the only thing that escaped successfully, was my cold bitter tears. His firm hand that clenched the lethal axe rose up aiming towards me head.

"No!" I whimpered. It was so soft, I couldn't even hear myself. I couldn't constrain the agonizing intensity my fragile throat held to yell as loud as the vibrant screaming voices that I nurtured in my head . With that, he suddenly gave me a concerned look. But in just a second, the relentless, evil being that was inside him took control again, and his heavy, bulky arm suddenly swung back.

"NO!"

************************************
30 miserable days earlier...

I stood there vulnerably, gazing at my sore, pitiful reflection through the mirror. With its cluster of creases and scratches, matching my weak spirit. Today was my 16th year of desperation. My 16th year of disparagement. Instead of an enthusiastic, blissful teenage girl exhilarated that today was her 16th birthday, I was staring at something else. I saw a girl lost in her emotions. A victim of reckoning. The pale look on my face made me feel gullible. I felt trapped into my crippled reality as what I perceive as bitter misery.

I gradually lifted up my pale scrawny hands and rubbed my sensitive eyes. They were windows of despair. Everywhere I looked, I felt tormented. I'm intensely shocked that this old, worn-out house hasn't crumbled down from just a little blow of wind. The environment around me duplicated exactly what's inside me. Desolation.

After that devastating acknowledgement, I picked up my blood-red colored toothbrush and proceeded to brush my teeth. The amount of scrubs I did to brush my teeth was the same amount of thoughts of suicide I've had. The worst part was that no matter how much emotons, how much desperation, how much searing thoughts that swirled around me, no one could see them.

But its not their fault. As soon as I encounter another human being, all I did was smile. The fakest smile that ever existed was on me. I despise people pitying me. I didn't need that.

I couldn't even express my feelings to my parents. My parents are already going through financial problems. If I told them about my depression, they would surely feel bad, which is what I don't want at all, and they'll have to deal with adding a whole new problem with the thousands of problem they are already enduring.

But no matter, the circumstance I'm in, I've always dearly loved my parents. They've been there for me through thick and thin, through joy and sorrow.

The water trickled down the toothbrush, and I did the rest of the job, by rubbing and scrubbing the prickly brush with my fingers. I turned off the tap water and expected complete silence. Complete silence was my biggest fear. You could easily hear any tick. The tiniest noise would creep me out. Even though I could easily break the silence by making a quick noise or by doing a little hum, something seem to zip my mouth close.

Suddenly, I hear noises. The sound of agony. Not something new in this house. I walked out the bathroom, and gently close the door, then resumed. Step by step, I sauntered through the shallow hallway, with 3 to 4 doors on each wall. The long hallway lead to a clear passage to the living room which apparently held the whimpers. Now at the edge of the hallway, I glanced over to see my tall, gangly mom sitting their...crying.

She held a phone and it seemed that she's been conversating with whoever shes talking to on the line because she suddenly hung the phone and slammed it across the table, then resumed weeping and crying.

Confused, I ran over to her, and gave her a comforting hug. I couldn't stand seeing my mom upset. My mom has always been there for me through everything.

"Mom, what happened?" I yelled concernedly, "and who was that on the phone?"

My mom made a small genuine huff and cupped my cheeks. Usually, I'll get annoyed whenever she did that, but right now, I just had to endure it. In fact, I started to appreciate it more after acknowkedging the fact that she always did that to me whenever she showed her affection for me as a parent. "Oh nothing, dear," she skeptically affirmed, "and I was talking to my mom."

Obviously that was a lie. No one cries on the phone without a good reason. Now that I think about it, she has been on the phone, nonstop since the day she realized that I was almost turning 16.

And why would she be talking to her mom...

...My grandma

The word put chills into my spine. Mom mom rarely talked about my grandmother. I remember when I was 12, and I asked mom if I can ever visit my grandma, a relative I've never met or knew. I remember feeling extremely frightened when I saw the frantic expression on her face when I asked her that question. The next thing I knew, she was yelling at the top of her lungs. She nearly ripped out her hair, to the point I was afraid her head would literally fall off. She broke everything in sight. I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL YOU, YOU LITTLE STINGY CHILD! I remember those unexpected words from the dry lips of my mother.

That day, I almost fainted. All I asked is if I could ever visit my grandma, and my mom just went straight-up psycho. I almost had a mini heart attack. After that day, I told myself to never bring up grandma. Of course she apologized later but that's all she did. Til this day, she never explained why she did what she did, and I never dared ask her why she responded like that. With her reaction that day, I'm shocked she's bringing her up now.

But now that she, brought her up, I had the urge to ask about her. I just hope she doesn't go lunatic again. I mean I did have the right to be curious about who my grandmother was and what she's done through her years. I felt reluctant about asking of her, but my lips won over and I did it. "Grandma?" I immediately stepped back, afraid of how my mom would react. She bit her lips, trying to control herself. And that's it. She surprisingly did nothing.

Mom swiftly got up the seat, walked towards me, and gave me a quirky smile. "Let's forget about everything, and focus on you, okay sweetie?"

It took me a moment to register that in my head. How the heck does she get over that already? After all the days of her talking on the phone while crying after all her pitfalls she went or is going through, she's suddenly...happy? I mean that's what people feel when they smile, don't they? Happiness is not a familiarity for me.

"Umm...okay?" I answered, well kinda. But I was definitely not just going to let this go. I have to talk to mom later about who my grandmother was, but maybe now was just not the right time. I just had to figure out how I'll start up the conversation without going totally overboard.

"Good! Now let's talk about my little gir...my big girl's birthday!" she babbled, " and you're turning 16. Isn't that great?!" I smiled at her enthusiasm. My mom's happiness always made me glad. Happiness was very rare in the house. While people are worrying about what they were going to for their birthday, my mom worried about whether or not I'll crack up a smile, especially during special occasions like this. If only she realized that her concern already made me happy, but I just never expressed my emotions through my face. It always just stayed there living in a small section of my broken, stubborn heart. I would tell her how I really feel but I'm afraid if I do, she would stop trying to show that she cares and I didn't want her to stop making me at least, less depressed.

"Happy birthday, Izabella!" She beamed. Her aesthetic long golden blonde hair shined like her charismatic heart as her rosy cheeks looked like it was about to pop of her face in no time.

The thought of that made me laugh and I finally replied, "Thanks mom!" I ran to give her another hug. I don't know what about my mom's attitude that made me so gratified. Maybe the fact that she always think positive in not-so good situations, especially when she's around me, just to make me feel better. That's something I really adored about her. This made me feel slightly better about being the only child because some other resembling idiot would've stole half of that love my mom furnished, that was initially reserved for me.

"Is this the same girl that says she hates hugging?" My mom bickered.

"Yeah well, you're the only one that makes it work!" I chirped. I really wasn't fond of hugging people. I can't even deal with looking at people or even interacting with them, not to talk of touching people. It just bugs me. But mother was different. She's the only one that I could trust, the only one I felt a 100% confident around.

"What's that suppose to mean?!" a familiar voice uttered in a hurtful tone.

I turn around to see my dad standing with his huge snuggly coat by the door. "Father!" I chuckled. I rushed over to my dad for a snuggily hug, "and I can stand hugging you, too."

"Ahh...that's what I thought," his sincere voice roamed. Dad just arrived home from his work as a construction worker. He's been doing the job for nearly 14 years now.

He then turned over to mom and spread his arms expecting a hug from mother. "What about you, Melinda?"

"No thank you!" She snuffed.

"Why not?"

"Because Im confused on why you wore that big a** jacket, when its warm outside. You're sweating like a pig!" She exclaimed.

"Pigs sweat?" he asked confused.

"Ugh!" My mom huffed. She arched her eyebrow than gave an unusual smile. "You know, if it makes you feel better, Ill give you more than a hug tonight, I mean, It's been a while since..."

"Eww!" I gawked, "Do you guys realize that I'm still standing here!"

"Ooh I'll like that!" Dad said to my mom, then looked over at me, "oh please, when you get older you're going to have to..."

"Stop!" I begged. It extremely annoyed me how they are so insistent about the topic. As soon as I clocked 13, my parents made a lengthy list of both boys and girls names for when I have a baby. Its not like anybody was going to admire my repulsive look and attitude.

"Fine you little baby!" he hissed, "I'm taking a shower."

My mom shook her head, responding to my dad's weird behavior and then turned back to to me. "Anyways, before we were interrupted, since its your 16th birthday, I'm going to make sure you have the best party ever, my sweet!" She raised some strands of hair off my forehead and then stroked it until it shifted gradually to the side. "And it's going to be a big one too... very, very big."

I stared at my mom and gave her a confounded look. Usually almost every birthday I had, consisted of some classical music in our old, dusty radio, a little dinner, a few balloons, and some wine and beers I wasn't even allowed to drink; and of course, there were homemade decorations that my mom, Christopher, and I helped contrived.

Christopher was the best birthday gift I've every received in my life. Christopher has always assisted me in the best and worst situations. His fabulous black, brown, and white fur was as great as his companionship. Seeing the beagle jump out of the box and running towards me; I smiled so much that day, that my cheeks hurt. Christopher was probably the most expensive gift I've ever received. But his price isn't what I found precious and loveable about him, it was his generous alliance and assistance.

I scratched my head, still confounded with her statement. Assuming that mother would acknowledge my confusion, I impassively waited their tapping my feet to the agitating silence for my mother to explain, but she just stood their smiling her cheeks off. She sure smiled a lot this morning- well just after the troubling phone call I'm still muddled about. Some perception was giving me a feeling that something was off but I couldn't put my finger to it. I gave up trying to suspect things and thought that I was just being pathetic.

"Mom? Did you eyes produce too much fluid? We barely have enough money to buy a steady chair!" I reminded her, "how in the world are you going to make a BIG party?"

Mother sat down on the deteriorating, beige couch beside us, and then I replicated her action. She then planted her scrawny hands on my thigh and huffed. Whenever she did that, it meant that she was about to announce a very bad news, or a very good news. Hoping that it was a good one, I held my breath then let it all out. I then nodded, notifying her that I was ready to hear the big announcement.

"You're not having your birthday party here this year." She addressed. I tried discerning what she had just said but unsurprisingly failed. Since that first time I was birthed out of the womb, all my celebrations of that day was always done at home. So baffled with what she had just said, I couldn't help but ask, "Can you please explain to me in a way that I do not feel excessively bewildered?"

My mother looked down and with that I observed every look, every movement, every sign that could help me decipher her thoughts, hoping that it would help me figure out whether what she was going to tell me was good or bad. She finally looked straight up at me, probably sensing the impatience that heaved off my body and spoke. "It's your 16th birthday," she suddenly paused and soaked in the air that was around her then continued, "you deserve to celebrate your only 16th birthday in a more fascinating way than just a cupcake with a candle and a small party balloon. This time you're celebrating your birthday at Candace's."

Candace? Who's Candace?

I took my time to try to remember any person that I might have known named Candace but my mind was completely blank. The name doesn't ring any bell. But mother seemed to sense my confusion because she suddenly continued.

"Candace is my sister," she affirmed, "you're having your 16th birthday party in her house."

I couldn't recall a time where my mother talked to me about her sister, or the fact that she even had a sister. Now that I think about it, mother never seemed interested to talk to me about her family and it's starting to really bother me. She probably thinks that knowing whether she had siblings or a caring mother was none of my business. But it is. I have the right to know that I have an aunt or uncle. I shouldn't have to be afraid to ask about my grandparents. I shouldn't anticipate about asking about my family tree and worrying about her reaction. She kept hiding all these significant part of my life away from me, and it's really getting annoying. Why is she so reluctant about this topic?

"You never told me you had a sister," I remarked, "you never told me I had an aunt?" I made sure my tone was as gentle and lenient as possible. I may be angry at her in the inside but I couldn't express my emotion through my face at her. It's a weakness I entailed and acknowledged for a long time. I just couldn't express my emotion enough so one can endorse it. I just didn't want a reaction from that person. That's why whenever I felt like I wanted to cry in a place where people were, I did anything to prevent that tear from escaping my eyes. And I mean ANYTHING! If I had to slap myself until my cheeks turn red to stop myself from divulging my emotion, I would.

"We just haven't been so...so..." She paused apparently looking for a preferable word to exert, "...coherent."

I've never been so unsatisfied in my life. She addresses her sister which she has never told she me she had and that's all she has to say? I was so infuriated at this point and I just wanted to rage at her. All the anger and misery I've had on my back since that past that have accumulated from different consequences, filled me right there. I just wanted to burst.

"Okay?" That's all I said. My response gave me an even more dissatisfaction. My emotions was like a rocket balloon. Instead of popping and having an outburst, it just deflates being ready to be filled up with all that air again.

"Anyways," mother continued, "Candace lives in a very big house so I'm sure you'll have a blasted party there."

I was still troubled about my mother not telling me "stuff". But I was still able to crack up a little smile for the fact that I finally get a decent party after all these years. "Is the house really big?"

"You'll see." She simply said. She drastically got up the fading couch and pulled me up in my surprise. "Now go get ready! Today is going to be one of your best day of your life!" She babbled.

I followed her direction, getting off my faded clothes and hopping into the shower. I untied the hair tie around my long pony tail and flicked it outside that bathroom curtain. I washed my hair with a wildflower scented shampoo and made sure I touched every strand of my hair. I soaked my skin and watched the water flush away through the drain. I enjoyed the warmth of the water and the way it moistens my skin.

The soothing moment started to dissolve after I thought about my aunt, that I didn't even know I had just the day before. If it was anyone else, they would've reacted dramatically. But I just nodded away like its nothing. But for some reason it really affected me. I just have to talk to her. Talking doesn't hurt. But whenever I tried to talk to her about this topic, she always found a way to dismiss the topic. And as always, I on-purposely fell into her trap. I never liked pushing people, but the prevention of pushing people unfortunately leads me to nowhere.

And that really bothers me.

I carefully got off the shower and headed to my room as I dry my hair with a mini towel. I closed the door behind me and walked in my closet. As usual, none of the clothes impressed me. I couldn't afford decent clothes and almost all the clothes I wore, were either faded, contained disturbing creases, or had a little rip. I sighed as I pushed each hangers to the left out of dissatisfaction.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

I hear a rough knock behind my door and opened it to see my mom standing there with a giddily smile, holding a hanger with white plastic over it.

"If you're going to have a magnificent party, you have to match it with a magnificent dress." Mother notified.

I raised my hands to my cheeks in excitement and ran towards her. "You bought me a dress?!"

"Yeah, it's not the best dress in the world but I'm sure you'll look beautiful in it. You make anything you touch glamorous"

...I find that hard to believe.

She finally unzipped the white plastic that was covering up the mysterious dress; and what emerged out of the white sheet was a glamorous, bright misty rose colored dress that fortunately made my jaws drop. The top of the dress had pretty glimmers of diamonds and sparkles, and the bottom flared out just above my knees. I haven't been this happy since the day baby Christopher jumped out of the box. "It's beautiful!" I enthusiastically tried on the dress with my proud mother helping me tame it. It fit just perfectly and I've never felt so flattered.

"Mother.." I gasped, "this must've cost a fortune!" Obviously, our family wasn't the richest and my parents barely had enough money to buy a new couch. There's no way a used worn-out couch is more expensive than this dress that I'm honorably wearing.

"I've been saving the money for a long time." She simply answered, "you should at least where something decent for your birthday this year."

"Decent? This is marvelous!" I looked at the mirror and twirled around the stained carpet and acted as if I was an elegant princess. I want to at least enjoy this sincere moment because I've never felt this way for a long time. Mother walked towards me and hovered over. "We're not over just yet," mother addressed, "this is just the beginning."

For the past hours, mother gladly gave me a makeover, from styling my hair to putting on my makeup. Since then we chatted, laughed, giggled, and I really cherished this point of time. I was really looking forward to celebrating my birthday at Candace's...my aunt I just knew I had.

I brushed off the thought not wanting to deteriorate the relaxing feeling I've yearned for since ever and continued adoring this moment. After the whole makeover, I took one more glance at the mirror, doubting if that's actually me I'm glaring at on mirror. My chestnut brown hair really matched the subtle color of my dress. My hair was styled in waves and it glamorously flows down my back.

After admiring the way I looked, realization hits me.

"Mom. Does dad know it's..."

A rough knocking on the door interrupted my realization of dad not wishing me happy birthday; or at least acknowledging the fact that it's my birthday.

"Umm...Come in," my mother said with a shaky voice.

Coincidentally, my dad comes in and offered me a decent smile. With the look on his face, I couldn't tell if he was proud or anxious. Sometimes, it's impossible to discern my father's expression. That's probably who I got the trait from. At least it's most likely. Father walked toward me and planted his meaty hand against my right shoulder. "You look beautiful, Iz." He complemented. "You've done well, Melinda."

"Of course I did," Melinda smirked then kisses father on the cheeks...then on the lips.

To prevent this moment from being anymore awkward, I nudged at my mom and looked over at the box near the bed that I'm certainly sure held the shoes.

"Oh yes!" Mother exclaimed. She grasped the box from under the bed as if I didn't know it was there and directed it forward to me. "It was suppose to be a surprise."

I laughed thinking of all the memories where mother persistently failed to surprise me...or anyone. I think back to the time when Christopher jumped out of the box in the kitchen which obviously backfired mother's plan to surprise me. I really missed Christopher. Mother said that she took Christopher to the vet because Christopher didn't seem to be feeling well. It worries me that Christopher has been with the vet for 2 days now and I try not to think about it but it's so difficult. Shoving away the thoughts, I took the box from mother's hand and lifted off the top.

A shiny jeweled silver shoe came up to appearance. I constantly blinked to see if this fabulous shiny object I think I am witnessing right now is just a hallucination. After I was certainly sure that I want not dreaming or anything, I jumped up and down inflamed up with excitement.

Father hung his arms around mother's neck giving her a kiss on the cheek then shared a sincere smile and I smiled back as I try on the shoes. I elegantly twirled around on my glamoring shoes never feeling so complete. Something in my heart drove me to walk up to dad and reassure his tenderness. Father has always been this goofy, enthusiastic psychotic guy that I admired. But this year that goofiness strangely disappeared. He became more stiffed and mundane. It seems like everything is changing this year. Mother seems vulnerable. Father is becoming unenthusiastic as ever. Christopher is acting wierd. And I'm just here acknowledging things and, as usual, pumping in unwanted feelings.

His green eyes glistened as if he knows what I'm thinking. He gulped and leaned towards me and gives me a warming kiss on my left cheek. "Happy birthday, Iz."

I do admire that he finally wished me a happy birthday but I was kinda unsatisfied with his action. I expected him to lift me up from the ground and playfully spin me around as I scream my butt off; or tickle me until I sounded like a dying walrus; or punch me on the shoulders, then run around psychotically yelling out "catch me if you can Izzy bear!"

Is today 'let's make Izabella super unsastified' day? It seems like each year that passes by, everything changes bit by bit. And it seems like now, whatever is driving this family into an unknown quirky direction is having a full effect on dad and mom.

"Thanks dad." I chirped, "I'll be honored to celebrate many more birthdays with the best father ever." I couldn't tell if my response was cheesy or arousing. But in my surprise, I could've sworn I saw dad shed an unexpected tear.

Is dad actually crying?

I did my best rethinking each and every word I previously said and tried to find which part of my statement could've been so emotional to the point that it actually compelled father to shed some tears. My brain hurts from thinking too much and I gave up trying to figure out what part of what I said was so awakening. Nothing I said was really a big deal.

Mother bit her lips and father try to pump in his tears back to where it was initially from.

"Dad...?" I anxiously waited for his response.

"I'm sorry, Izzy bear...I..." Father stopped, waiting for an expected reaction. I blushed knowing that he expected a smile from me after calling me Izzy bear and he was right. It's been a long time since he called me that and hearing that again was somehow refreshing. He called me that whenever we played and joked around. I would always complain how he'd treated me like a child and he promised me that one day, he'll let me be a big girl that I always wanted to be, and that he'll treat me like a matured person. That's probably what this is about. That's why he didn't wake me up in the middle of the night to watch TV with him when he didn't feel like sleeping; or spray orange juice at me when I just finished showering. He'd find a way to make me smile whenever I felt miserable...and that was all the time. He's just like mom, except everything he did to make me feel better was more extravagant and bizarre. But that's what I loved about him. I just didn't know he would execute his promise on my 16th year. Its just too early. I desperately wanted my crazy daddy back.

Father was about to continue but mother interrupted him and repeatedly tapped her small wrist, indicating that time is running late. I want to believe that was the initial reason why she did that, but a wierd feeling tells me that she interrupted father on purpose. Or maybe I'm being a detective wannabe pathetically suspecting things all the time.

I looked down and followed my mother out the door. I spun my head to him and reluctantly uttered, "you could break the promise if you want." I ignored mother yelling at me in the background to get out. But dad not being the quirky dad that I always admired, bothered me way more than not having a decent birthday party.

He sighed and abnormally breathed out as if he's been holding his breath for a long time. He obviously knows what I meant by the promise I made him make several years ago. "I can't."

I crossed my eyes waiting for him to change his mind but he didn't budge. "And why is that so?"

Father sighed again. "First of all, I've always been advising you to never break your promise. And I also advised you to not be a hypocrite."

He paused, and search for any indication or clues of understanding from me at this point. Although I kinda see his point, multiple questions are constantly uprising in my head, so I'm going to try the best as I can to show no clue or impression of understanding. It will make him push himself to make me understand him, and that's the only way I could get a reasonable explanation on what's going on. Anything that will help me grasp out the details and explanations from my dad so I could at least gradually comprehend why he has been acting so strange.. and not the good kind, I would do it. I have to.

"Yeah...and?" I cackled, praying I didn't sound too rude.

"Well... I'm just going to say this. If I break the promise now, I'll never get the chance to treat you like an adult." He gulped at the last part.

"But..."

"Izabella.." He quickly interrupted me, "trust me. You'll understand what I mean later on."

He ran his hands through his coffee espresso hair and walked out the room...just like that.

If he let me finished, I would've reminded him that the first thing he said in his promise was 'one day'. And that it didn't have to be this day. I want to tell him that just because he wants to treat me like a grownup, doesn't me he had to completely drop the hilariously goofiness side of him for me. That I missed him being on-purposely annoying to me. That he needs to be him. But it seemed like it didn't matter anymore, well at least right now. What really bothered me was what he said.

I'll never get the chance to treat you like an adult.

What the hell does that mean?

My thoughts were interrupted when I heard mom yelling.

"Izabella! Come right now!"

I followed my mom down and into her car I entered.

************************************

Most of the car ride was silent and felt unusually tense. Mother had a really stern expression on her face but I was already too overwhelmed by what had happened and what's about to happen. My father's voice crept up in my mind over and over. Was father just really confusing or am I just stupid? I shook all the troubling thoughts off for the millionth time now, hovered my head against the head of my seat so I could relax and feel comfortable, and tried breathing out all the stress away. Every now and then I peeked over to see my mother's expression and it weirdly stayed the same throughout the drive so far. It looked as if she's daydreaming but you could also tell she's completely focused at the same time. The only time her pupil moved was when she had to make a turn but other than that, her whole eye position were fixed in one place persistently. Not being able to maintain the curiosity anymore my blabber mouth confessed, "Is anything wrong mother?"

I closed my eyes and crossed my finger hoping it wasn't another problem that I had to deal or even bear with. There's only a certain amount of stress that my heart can swallow and I think it has already soaked in enough. I know I probably look stupid right now but the entwining of my fingers is the only hope I have left. Of course I could've just not say anything and mind my own business. But any business of mother's is mine, isn't it? The reason why we tell things to each other is so we could balance out the stress knowing that we have each other to be there. Anyone who sees their mother acting wierd would be concerned. It's just that my mother always acted strange and it was up to me to decipher whether I should be involved or let her deal with it herself.

Mother still pasting on a stern look in her face hesitatingly answered, "oh nothing dear, I was just thinking"

You've got to be kidding? I decided not to be such a wimp and make sure she actually give me answers and stop making my have to guess or ponder over whatever the hell is going on.

"Thinking about what..mother?" I pushed.

"Just thinking about how you've grown so fast, my sweet."

"That's it?"

"Umm...yes dear."

"Then why aren't you looking at me?" Mother eyebrows twitched and I myself was surprised at what I had just said. I hated being pushy but not being pushy is the reason why I was always left with unanswered questions and an immense look of confusion.

Mother glanced at me with unneeded force. I don't understand why she suddenly has a hard time looking at me. She gradually looked back at her initial spot. "I'm driving, and I can't take my eyes off the road, sweety."

"No, you're acting strange and you're not telling me why?! Why have you and dad been acting all wierd lately?!" I came off way louder than I wanted to be. I don't know whether to be proud of my self for finally speaking up to my mother or to regret my pushy response.

"Gosh Izabella! You need to calm down!"

I was going to yell at her a few more time but I finally surrendered and decided not to continue with this. I didn't want to fight with my mom. I know I said I want going to let mother get away with her answers but something held me back from continuing try to grasp out the satisfying answers from her, even if it meant screaming at her. That something I want to punch in a face and throw it out to a lake.

"Sorry, I'm just tired," I lied. Mother nodded notifying that it's okay. The car finally pulled off near a humongous building that I now can't stop staring at. I got off the car cutting off my mom when she was about to say "we're here!"