Not your honey (Leila Series #1) {IN PROGRESS}

All my life I have been told all the points I cannot do myself. About all the things that I will never succeed in achieving. How little I mean to people around me. That nothing I do is enough. I am not good enough. That is what I have been told ever since I learned to talk and understand what others told me. The little girl who lived with her w*********h mother in the ghetto, will either be taken by social services or to die young by a drug overdose. The men I would come to date in the future and have relationships with would leave me just as my father left my mother. All her mistakes and failures were superimposed or mirrored on me. The whispers over the years at school, at the grocery store or on the playground were anything but discreet. My mother walked around with her head held high while holding my hand in public. But at home, she would break down and prepare another syringe of temporary solutions, in this case heroin. She never hurt me or treated me badly, it was more about neglection. Even though I can now in retrospect understand that it was hardly a working foundation for a child. At the time I did not understand that a mother should not drink lots of alcohol, take all sorts of drugs and make strange noises behind closed doors with foreign men. That is something I had to learn the hard way when I grew older. I hear her calling 'no one can hear me' out in the dark, in the symphony of the drugs. She does not think she is bothering anyone. While her closest relative stands still next to her, me. Too many have been taken out by the devil. It has not been long since she promised me to stop, now she is standing there again. I stand next to my mother who has a leash around her arm and has just gotten numb, once more she confused the syringe with love. But this time she never woke up. This time it really hit and she got too much. That is why I am standing here at the cemetary with a red rose. It is just me and the priest here. Even my grandparents could not bring themselves here to their only child's funeral. The priest's words were nothing I listened to. The anger inside me over the loss and the fact that she had now left me alone made me desperately begging a silent prayer to God that he would speed up this whole thing. I did not want to be here anymore. She has let me down for the last time. Left me behind to clean up the mess she made. 'It is all right, mother dearest. I will clean it up. I am going to start my empire and this time, not even you can stop me', was the last thought that floated inside my mind before the priest began to round off his godly babbling. "Henrietta Towler, may you rest in peace." he said and did the 'shoulder-shoulder-chest-kiss' thing that religious people usually do. I looked down at the newly excavated tomb in which her cheap coffin had been laid before it was covered with dark moist soil. I gave the place an angry look before I threw the rose down over it. Without a word, I turned around and walked away. For the first time since I was born, I was now free and could no longer be held responsible for my mother's latest embarrassment.