Unwritten Love Story

Chapter one

"Oh, all that I did to try to undo it,

All of the pain and all your excuses,

I was a kid, but I wasn't clueless,

Someone who loves you wouldn't do this,

All of my past I try to erase it,

But now I see. Would I even change it?

Might share a face and share a last name,

But we are not the same."

- Family Line, Conan Gray.

•••

Six years ago...

'Questions are essential in our human curiosity, learning, and progress. Questions provide a getaway to new knowledge, deep understanding, and critical thinking. Questions allow us to explore the unknown, challenge existing assumptions, and expand our perspectives.'

I read the article the English teacher gave us, and it only makes me hate reading, even when I enjoy it very much. Questions are essential; we ask questions daily, but to let us write an essay about questions is beyond crazy.

I have questions roaming around in my head every day, but they are stupid questions that do not matter. So, why do questions matter so much that we have to write a 1000-word essay explaining reasons why questions matter?

It's evident that when asking questions, you grow your knowledge, so why do I have to waste my time explaining why they matter?

I ask myself how the person who invented the calendar knew what day it was. How did people live back then?

I have many questions floating in my head like:

- Are we living or slowly dying?

- Can blind people dream?

- Why do people squint their eyes when they can't see?

- Why do we dream?

- Can we travel through time?

- Why is the sky blue?

- Why does nobody like me?

The last question keeps me awake most nights. Unlike my sisters, I have few friends, and boys do not chase me. At first, these things were the least of my worries, but it gets harder to stay the same when you have a mother like mine.

A mother who only cares about the number of boys you have on your phone or a mother who only cares about the money and materials that boys get for girls.

It is purely disgusting when you think about it. Speaking of which, I have a ton of questions for my mother.

- Why is it so crucial for you that your daughter gets a boyfriend?

- Aren't you supposed to be protective of me?

- Why do you kick your daughter even if she's already down?

It's okay if it comes from the world, but from the mother who gave birth to you, she should've known better than to be the reason why her daughter can't seem to learn how to love or how to trust.

The world is brutal itself, so to make it worse instead of trying to improve it is another case.

I am in the bedroom with my little sister and have a calendar. I count the days until I can move out and find a place.

It sucks that I am only sixteen and have a long way to go. I stare at the mirror, hating how I look, but I can't do anything about it. That sucks, too.

I grab my black bag and head out of the bedroom. I look at my brother, who sprints out of his room because he's late for his class.

I wonder if this is the life after school. I am going to college, still living in your parent's house, running late to a class, and then going out for lunch with friends.

As usual, my mom wakes up at noon. Unlike other moms, my mom never bothered to wake up to help us prepare.

She never bothered to teach me how to brush my teeth- once in a while; she would tell me to brush my teeth. She never bothered to brush my hair; the blame was on me this time because I was lazy.

I barely took care of myself, and I was slowly learning to find reasons to stay alive.

I was and still am alone. I barely go out, and the only place I go to is the school because I am forced to do so.

I don't have friends, and I am always in this room, repeatedly burying myself in my pain.

I am alone, and loneliness is the worst feeling. It is a feeling that can kill you after it hurts you for a while.

Today is one of those days that I don't feel like brushing my hair or teeth. I am lonely and friendless, so I have nothing to lose.

I don't feel good about myself, so I am letting myself go. Our house is two floors with five rooms, and if only my parents sleep in the same room, the fifth room can be mine.

Our room is across from my dad's, and we cannot change it. Only mom is, which is messed up because it's our room.

Not that I care anyway; I know I will leave this place, but knowing that my eleven-year-old sister will stay with my toxic parents kills me a little.

I count the days I can leave, and she's still playing with toys. When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I look into the kitchen and don't find Nash, which means he already left.

On the right side of the stairs, the medium-sized living room without a door connects to the spacious room with a fireplace and two couches under the stairs.

I enter the kitchen, looking at my seventeen-year-old sister as she sits on the chair, eyes focused on the book.

I wish I care about my studies like her, but I can't focus at school for some reason. Every time I try, something in my brain begins to talk and tell me to imagine things that won't happen.

For instance, I always imagine being a child to other parents with different siblings. I would be the only daughter, and everyone's attention would be on me.

Yes, I am sick.

I don't drink coffee or eat breakfast. So, I waited for my siblings to finish so we could finish this day.

I don't know if my parents know about my mental health issues or are ignoring them, but leaving me alone to fight this fight is teaching me to give up.

I always blame my parents for what's happening to me. I wouldn't have trust or daddy issues because I didn't have a father figure.

My dad spent all my life drunk with different women and relied on my mother to raise us properly.

Whenever we made a mistake, he would blow up on my mom instead of us. It wasn't fair, and every time we would remind him that we were the cause of that problem, he would always blame my mother. I would keep reminding him that it takes two to start a family and two to raise kids.

Maddie, my eleven-year-old sister, looks up at me after she shoves a spoonful of cereal in her mouth. She points at me as the helper's head turns to look at me.

Nova, the helper who has been with us for nineteen years, grimaces when she sees my face. "Ay, Ella! Get your hairbrush, and let me brush your hair."

I look at her blankly and look up at the stairs. "I am not in the mood to return to the room."

Nova sighs, handing me a bottle of water. "I will get it for you."

"No need," I protest, waving my hand in her face. "We will be late for school."

I will admit I hate that I know I need to take care of myself but always choose not to.

I also hate that I am the total opposite of my two sisters. Maddie and Sadie.

Sadie is my sister, who's only one and a half years older than me, yet my parents still treat me like I am one and a half years older than Maddie, who's five years younger than me.

Strangely, I don't blame them when I act like a five-year-old. I know these things are a barrier between me and the world, but I am still lying on the floor and watching as people kick me without the motivation to stand up.

Our kitchen makes me sick sometimes. It's green and reminds me of puke, but my mother claims green makes her happy. According to most people, green is the color of happiness; maybe that's why I dislike it.

Happiness and I don't get along; unfortunately, that's a fact.

I try to be grateful for what I have. After all, many people are going through worse things, and my problems are nothing compared to theirs, and if only I could convince my brain to be happy, my life would be normal.

I count every steps that take me to the car as soon as I walk out of the door, and the only thing my eyes meet are the ground.

One... two... three...four...five...

"What are you doing?" I look up to see Sadie looking at me strangely. When I say she's the opposite of me, I am being honest.

Her brushed black hair is tied back in a neat ponytail, and the slight makeup she has on means she woke up extra early.

Unlike me, Sadie was popular at school. Everyone knew her. Everyone came to her parties, and I was always forced to go to them. Everyone loved her, and all the teachers talked good about her.

I didn't have a problem with her being all popular, but I had a problem with me being known as Sadie's sister.

When I finally reach the car, I come to a conclusion that I have reached over forty-five steps. I don't see it as an achievement. Every morning I take over forty-five steps, so it is nothing new.

I open the door to find the driver asleep on the steering wheel. I chuckle because I am sure if I ever work, that will be me.

"Ant," I call, trying to wake him up. He jumps, and his head hits the headrest, turning to look at me with a small smile on his face.

"I'm sorry," he says, rubbing his eyes.

As we wait for Maddie and Sadie, I tell Antonio to turn the radio on and a song I know starts playing.

I often rely on music to distract me from reality, and according to my family, I know all the songs in the world, but they are wrong because I only listen to songs that I can understand.

Finally, Antonio reverses the car once everyone is in, and we head to the school while I hate every moment.

I stare out of the window, observing every house, people, buildings, and animals we pass by. I try to imagine what's their story, and make up reasons why they are out in the morning.

For example, the lady walking her golden retriever. She doesn't look happy, but forced to walk the dog early in the morning. She is searching for a job to help her family, and her little brother begged for a dog, so they bought him this old dog because it only had a few years left.

On the way to a cafe, she crosses path with a boy who's going through the same, but the only difference is that he already has a job, but the job doesn't pay enough for his sick dad and two siblings.

I wake up from my daydreaming to realize that she is carrying a designer bag, which means that she is ruining my story.

I shake my head when I decide that this bag was given to her by her ex-boyfriend who was hit by a car.

I roll down the window, and I take a closer look at her. She is wearing an oversized hoodie with gray sweatpants, and I realize that she must be walking her abusive boyfriend's dog.

This time I am not trying to make up a story, but the apparent sign of bruises on her face makes it evident that there's a person who abuses her.

I look at Maddie who's sleeping, and I start to laugh at how fast she can sleep. She is lucky that she can sleep anywhere, anytime.

Suddenly, the car comes to a sudden stop. Two things happen:

- The light turned red.

- A motorcycle has hit us from the back.

The guy stops near my window, and doesn't even lift up his helmet. He puts his finger on the bottom of his helmet where his lips are, and tells me to be silent.

I raise my eyebrows, looking at him. I want to say something to him, but nothing comes out. So, he lifts up his helmet where I can only see his face.

He has the most beautiful blue eyes, and I hate that I know he will like my sister over me. "It's not that bad."

I only realize that he's talking to me when he shakes his hand in my face. "What?"

He smirks, which only makes me want to punch his face. "I said that it's not bad. I would tell you if it was bad."

I blink. He is waiting for me to start a conversation. I don't do well with socializing, so I just smile at him and hope that he leaves, but he's hot and I don't want to lose this chance. He still doesn't know Sadie.

"You can run away now," I tell him quietly.

He chuckles. "I don't run away."

"Ella, who are you talking to?" Antonio asks, turning his head to look at me, then his eyes move to the guy on the motorcycle. "You're the one who hit us!"

The guy's eyes widen as he stares at Antonio. "I-"

I cut him off. "It was the car behind us who hit us, but he's saying that it's not bad."

The guy smiles at me after Antonio turns to look at the red light as it turns green.

"Nice to meet you, Ella," he winks at me before he puts his helmet back on.

I watch as he takes off, and I look at Antonio who's smiling in his seat.

•••