“I’m telling you Sera I’m fine.” ”Are you sure? Amby, it’s been a week! We only see each other at lunch now and you’ve been pretty quiet there as well.” “I told you, I’ve just been busy. Honestly, as soon as this painting is done everything will be fine.” ”GIRL! FUCK THE PAINTING! I swear, it’s killing you at this point. That thing HAS to be a health hazard at this point.” “I’ve already started Sera, I can’t just back out now.” ”Look Amber. You need to drop this. I’ve been letting you go through this because it looked like something you REALLY wanted to push through. But at this point you’re pushing TOO far.” “Sera, I don’t need to hear this right now. I’m finishing this. I’m too far in as it is. You can disagree all you want. But I’m finishing it, with or without you!” There was silence on the other end of the receiver for what felt like eons before your friend resumed. ”I just hate to see you so stressed out about this stuff Amby.” Her voice was very somber. “I know you’re trying to look out for me Sera...but just, let me finish this. We’ve had this conversation too many times now. It’s a painting. It won’t kill me. I just need to get through it is all.” Sera didn’t respond this time. “Sera...I have to go now. I’ll see you at school tomorrow ok?” You waited a few seconds for an answer. ”Okay...but please promise me you’ll take care of yourself? Please?” You sigh, “Of course, I promise. I’ll talk to you later.” After your good byes you hang up your phone and lazily drop it on the bench next to you. You lean back in let out a deep exhale, a breath you didn’t know you’ve been holding. Sera was wrong she just didn’t know it. Not about the stress, but where the stress was coming from. The last few days have been...well a mess. You look back down towards your sketch book. Empty. It’s been empty for these several days. You couldn’t really focus on coming up with anything to draw. Not when ‘she’ occupied your mind. It had been a few days since your dad walked in on you crying into the photo album and it hadn’t really gotten easier since. All of those photos made you feel a...well some feeling you couldn’t put your finger on. Nostalgia? You were never there for any of those memories. Longing? Did you miss her? But who did you miss? You never met her, not really. But that’s just the problem isn’t it? You never GOT to meet her. She was never there. Someone equally has passionate about her art and expression as you were about your own and you’d never be able to share in those emotions. You slouch over and bury your snout into your hands with a groan. Something you’ve been doing a lot of lately. Why the hell did you EVER think this would’ve been a good idea? Look at what you’ve done to yourself, now you can’t even focus on the painting, the entire reason any of this started in the first place. You should’ve just picked some OTHER person to paint. Auntie Rosa was just as popular back at the school if not more influential for what she did for the gardening club when she was a student. And she would’ve probably been so happy too. Or maybe you didn’t even have to paint ANYONE! You could’ve just painted a vista or something. A landscape, that’s what you love doing anyways. But no, you had to open up old wounds you didn’t even know you had. And now with the actual contest only two weeks away and with you being so far into the piece now you can’t exactly up and start over. Why did you ever think painting your mom was a good idea? You stopped your inner monolague for a second there. Mom. You were calling her mom now. Well, accurate description you suppose but, there’s only been one other person you’ve called mom. That green, anime loving Stegosaurus. No the other one. You grimmace. You have experience with Sequels being worse than the original but now with everything that’s going on, your “sister” has been really ruining your opinion of the woman who raised you. Why does that shut in leech get to have HER mom? And why do your parents put up with it so much Sometimes you wish your parents actually believed in spanking their children. She deserved an ass whopping or two. Or five. You didn’t understand it. None of them have been much help during these past few days. Dad has, but, you couldn’t bring up Lucy. Not with him. Those wounds probably go deeper than yours. Something that probably took years to heal if they aren’t still healing. You have no idea what would happen if you started opening them up again. You really didn’t feel ready to see your dad cry. And mom...Stella, well she was the replacement right? She’d probably have some objections to even the idea of you painting your mom. Wouldn’t she? Well even if she didn’t it’d be so awkward. ”YEA HEY! I’M SAD AS FUCK BECAUSE I MISS MY REAL MOM! WILL YOU HELP MAKE ME FEEL BETTER!” And Cynthia...ha! Hell no. If she didn’t just tell you to fuck off she’d berate you. Like she’s always done. Not a single supportive word has ever left that bitch’s mouth in her life. She doesn’t know shit. She can’t create, she hasn’t lost anyone, she’s such a privileged piece of shit. Sheltered beyond imaging and receives no more than slaps on the wrist for the snide comments and insults she throws at you every dinner. It made you sick. It made you angry. The negative thoughts made you think in spite of so much more around you. Your mother is gone, replaced! And by who? A naive woman who gave birth to the most petulant waste of sperm and embryo on the face of the planet who doesn’t get even half of the punishment she rightfully deserves. And your father, as well meaning as he is. A spineless bald...SKINNIE! A SPEARK CHUCKING PUSSY! Fuck! Thank the lord that off spring resemble the sex of their parent and that you weren’t born a boy. Being half human was enough, to make it physically obvious you were would be horrible. Your wiccan mom does more to punish the hell spawn of the house hold and even that is just disappointed words in french. Which she tried to force on you. Sometimes you wish you could run away. An alarm on your phone snaps you out of your seething. Six o’clock. About time to head home. You pick your head up and look around. The board walk was mostly empty and the street lights were on. You pick your things up and throw them in your bag, flinging it over your shoulder. As you begin the long walk home you return to mental airing of grievances in your head. Your family. All three of them. Nothing but headaches. A father who refuses to back you up. An oblivious step mother. And a shit head of a half-sister. You felt alone. Isolated. Like you had no one to talk to. You know this was a lie. You had plenty. But would they even listen to you and understand? Would those who could even be able to contain themselves? Or is this just a passing phase? Something you should just suffer in silence with until it finally blows over. Until you finally forget about your mom like everyone else did. There was a crack of thunder in the sky and you could smell the sea in the air. You’d have to make it home fast. [POST-NOTES] This takes place the night chapter 7 does before Amber makes it home.