Amore Nix(Early Release)

Pages one to six (Inspired by V.C. Andrew’s books, trying to capture that vibe so the idea goes to them.) I haven't gone through and edited some parts. I mainly skimmed for errors in my book. This was a right pain in the arse, especially typing it out after writing this story on paper. I believe it's good enough. I won't be going through and adding my little sassiness or humour, this story can be as blank as bloody hell. Lmfao, enjoy.

My name is Amore, it means Love. I have a little sister—her name is Nix for Night. Here's my story.

My mum was who I spent most of my life with. Whenever my dad was around, I'd always turn to him for attention.

I used to spend most of my time in my room. At some point it became a habit to stay there most of the time. I can't say I was able to figure out how I was feeling. I understand that was one of my problems--for a long time I believed it was my fault for feeling that way. I wasn't really close to my parents. I don't remember much from when I was younger. I guess memories just fade away quietly when you're not thinking about them. What I do remember..

My dad was the type to leave for a few years then randomly turn up. We didn't really get on that well, yet when we did, it was amazing. He had his angry moments; I saw a lot of them. I wouldn't say I blamed him for it. It wasn't his fault, it was mine.

I was good at annoying people, I've accepted it at some point but it still hurts sometimes.

I'll go back to the start--or at least what I remember.

I was really young at the time; it was around when my older brother, who was autistic, lived with us. Our mum had a boyfriend back then. There were lots of times we'd be late for school, mostly because of their fights. It started off as verbal arguments then escalated to violence each time. I'd like to say we weren't around when it happened, but I'd be lying. We had other siblings; they mostly lived with their own dads though. My brother never knew his dad, he never met him. After a fight turned physical, he was sent to our nan's house. Things weren't much better there but it was definitely an improvement.

After that, I was mostly on my own. I never liked playing by myself either. It was always lonely and I never really had friends. With all the fights and everything, I mostly stayed in my room unless I had to step out for a bit. Sometimes it would be past midnight before there was any food at home. And whenever I didn't have school, I would always be in my room, lost in my head or watching the telly. If not that, I’d just be asleep. And in doing so, my room would get cluttered and look as though a pig had come in and completely wrecked it.

There would be empty water bottles, rubbish, and papers everywhere. It would stay like that for months. And because of my habits, I would sleep for hours on end. I would forget to shower for days, possibly a week or two, until I finally got the motivation or energy to get up.

I'd forget to eat, sometimes it'd be intentional, sometimes it wouldn't be. I felt I deserved so.

Being lonely and on my own for a while—I think that's why I'm awkward around others. I never know what to say or do. I'd just stand there feeling like I was always in the way of someone. Few people I'm around today tell me not to apologise all the time. I don't think they understand. If I don't apologise, I'd just stay there silent, awkward, feeling like a piece of crap. They need an apology. When I was younger, I had to apologise. I made a lot of people around me angry all the time.

The thing is I never tried to anyway. Whenever someone yelled at me, I'd always argue back, just to explain. Although, it was always stupid doing so or even trying. And as I did, I'd cry at the end. And once again, of course, it'd annoy them even more. What's funny is I used to cry a lot when I was younger, somehow, I never seem to find the tears anymore. Like the tap was left on and all of a sudden, oddly ran out of water. And for months, I couldn't cry. And then at a random day it all poured out. I'd break down and cry. And then once again; Nothing. For months.

I couldn't cry no matter how much it hurt. Couldn't if I tired either. I couldn't ever comfort another, I never knew how. At time point I learnt, someone could read anything in any way. I gave people nicknames when they were upset, mainly because if I was angry, why would I call them a nickname?

For a long time, I was alone. I started to notice how uncomfortable I'd be if someone asked if I was okay. And when I learnt my front, people stopped asking. They'd assume I was all good.

My father first came back when I was at my nans house when my mother was single after a while. I remember turning to look at the garage and he was already walking over; I first saw him-- Then a blonde lady in a very vivid pink short sleeved top and blue jeans. She was holding a baby.