HIS

"Just three more minutes and I am up." I grumble at my shrieking alarm as my hand moves over my dresser without looking, because my eyes are closed and my long hair is all over my face. I feel my phone and move my hand more to find the damn alarm, while still moving my hands. I hear a loud thud.

"That must be my make up kit." I hiss and continue moving my hand over my dresser as the damn alarm won't stop.

Hitting my head gently, I suddenly remember throwing the alarm against the wall two days ago, which made my phone the new alarm clock.

Sitting up, I remove my hair from my face and look at the mirror, but because this isn't the first time I see myself resembling a psycho with a bird’s nest for hair. I won't scream. I close my eyes again and open them with strings of curses as I pick up my phone to smash it against the wall.

My door is thrown open suddenly by Mom. Her curly blonde hair wild, her green eyes ablaze, dainty nostrils flaring in anger, she is angry and it's my fault. What else? And yeah, she must be sober now. That stupid old woman must have called her.

"Melanie Brown!" She just called my full name, so she must be really mad at me.

"The school called me," Mom says and I know she's trying her best not to yell.

"Yeah?" I reply, biting my lips.

"Get dressed and let's leave." She says and walks away.

Argh, I groan internally.

"Melanie!!"

"Yeah, Mom. I'm coming! Give me fifteen minutes." I yell back. The response she returns is the cutting mark of silence.

I shuffle into my bathroom to wash up.

I wash my face and brush my teeth, like a hurricane ready to storm to school.

I wear a pair of black jeans and a purple T-shirt, boldly and proudly emblazoned with the words “Trust Nobody”.

I sit on my bed to tug a pair of Toms on.

Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I let out a frustrated huff as I take my brush and run it through my waist- length hair.

I take my phone off the nightstand, step out of the room, and walk toward the front door.

"What's wrong with you, Mel?" Mom asks, eyeing me up like I am from outer space.

"Nothing, Mom." I reply and move for the door.

"You can't wear that." She says pointing to my jeans, "it's ripped and that top? No way!" She adds and I almost rolled my eyes before remembering that I am not supposed to.

I'm going to school for Christ's sake! College to be exact and not high school, where I'll be sent to change my clothes many freaking times to suit Mom's taste. I am not going on some date night where I have to face paint a fake smile for Mom and Dad's reputation.

"Mom, there's nothing wrong with this." I fling my hands in the air. "Just let me wear it, please," I plead her.

"I might even come back home with you." I mumble to myself.

"Just start your prayers right now, because it won't be well with you the moment I hear that you’ve been transferred again." She snatches her bag and locks the door as she shoos us both out of the house.

We walk toward Mom’s car, and we’re both about to hop in.

"Mel, put your act together. Your IQ is great, but I just don't understand you. You're just nineteen, soon to be twenty in few weeks, and this is your third school for Christ's sake. Be grateful for your dad's money, because it's the only thing helping you to still be accepted in colleges." She continues her endless scolding as I sit at the back. I don't want to sit shotgun because she won't stop berating me and I don't want to be rude.