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♡♡♡Contains bad language, violence and sexual references♡♡♡

❥ Picture of Heaven to the side

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With a long sigh, I rested my head against the car window, sparing one last glance at my old house, until it was nothing but a blur.

For the past five years this has basically been my life.

My heart clenched at the memory of my dads death. I closed my eyes in attempt to forget it, but the memories of him kept on pooling inside my mind. No matter how many years have passed, I could still remember his death like it was yesterday.

I was so naive when he died, so young. I was carrying so much hope within me that he was going to be okay. That the doctors were going to make him better, and we would be a normal family again. After my dad took his last breath, it was like all that undying hope was torn out of my chest. At the end of the day my hope was pointless.

I always used to look at the positive side of things in life. I always had to find something good that came out with the bad. When i lost my dad I was completely torn apart. I mean what good could possible become from his death?

I could still remember the way my heart clenched in denial. I couldn't listen to the truth. I didn't want to believe that my dad was gone. I didn't want to dawn upon the realisation that I was never going to look into his bright blue eyes again. That I was never going to see him smile or hear him laugh. That I was never going to be able to speak to him, to tell him how much I love him.

I was always a daddy's girl growing up. We did everything together, I mean we were practically inseparable. I took after my dad in everything- to his looks, and his fiery personality. I was never the girly girl in my younger years, i always had more of that tomboyish type of style which was why i was with my dad so much. He was my rock, my shoulder to cry on. I had lost my best friend that day. I had lost a part of myself.

I could still remember the way I sobbed uncontrollably for hours, holding his cold hand in mine. I remember my mum locking herself in her bedroom while she cried herself to sleep every night.

I always used to think that we could move on from my dads death, that our life could go back to the way it used to be. But that wasn't the case.

When I was 11, my mother finally came back to her senses and came out of her room for the first time in months. She started to eat again, exercise, I finally saw some life in her eyes. I thought things were progressing but I was wrong. I found out that her position as a fashion designer became transferred higher.

I was happy for her at first but then she started to get really busy, coming home late, being locked up in her study for hours. I didn't really mind though because I knew she was doing what she could to provide for us, seeing as we didn't have my dad around anymore. But her work soon began to take over her life, that she didn't even acknowledge my presence anymore. It was like she used her job as an excuse to forget about him. As some sort of distraction to mend her broken heart. But, It was like she was a whole different person. Whenever she would come out, I tried to make conversation with her, yet she would just nod and lock herself back in her office until the next morning. No words could describe the pain I felt when she wouldn't spare me glance, but molded into someone that wasn't my mom. She stopped cooking my favorite meals, stopped coming into my room to tell me that she loved me. She just stopped being my mom.

After a year, my mother had finally come into my room to talk to me.

"Pack your bags, we're leaving for good." Were her promising words.

Little did I know that this was going to be the start of an never ending cycle. From that day on, I got dragged all over the place for her work. Moving from one school to another, one house to another, leaving behind friends and family that were nothing now but an old memory.

It was exhausting. At first moving was annoying but I eventually got used to it. I found it easier that whenever I transferred to a new school I would try to blend in with the crowd. That way no one would notice me, making it easier for me every time I moved. I wouldn't have to worry about leaving friends behind, because I wouldn't have anyone to say goodbye to.

The feeling of being alone never settled well with me. I suffered from severe depression growing up because I had no one to talk to. I cried myself to sleep every night because I felt so lost with myself, so disconnected from my mum. I couldn't talk to my mother about it, she didn't have a clue that I had been feeling that way. At that time i thought she never cared. Instead of her guidance, I was sent to school counselling sessions from my teachers. As i matured, I came to terms with myself that this was my life and I shouldn't waste it on being miserable. I began to get used to being by myself that I soon preferred to be. I learnt to deal with it, that if my mother didn't want to talk to me, I wasn't going to make the effort to try and talk to her. I became closed off, my anger for her only building each day. I couldn't find it in me to forgive her. For putting my young self through so much shit.

"We're here"

I rolled my eyes at the words that I had gotten so used to hearing.

The words that were a hard slap back to reality.