“Please, can you talk to me? I know I messed up” my girlfriend says.

I guess she was trying to apologize on her way out of it, so I said “No, you seriously cheated on me and expect me to take you back now? You do this every time we fight”.

It was over to me, she always played with my feelings over our 3 years. I guess those meant nothing to her, so I pushed her out of my room crying and slammed my door to lock it. Thankfully Mom is working right now, so she heard nothing of that and I couldn't keep from crying myself. Lola was banging on the door to get me to take her back, but no I can’t. I can't repeat my history with her, but maybe if she changes for the better.

She ended up leaving when I didn’t answer for a while and I tried to relax. It’s then time to think of the mistakes I made for 3 years and think of my future. I sit on my bed and look towards my easel with a canvas shrouded in a sheet. I get off my bed and pull the sheet off, so I can see my work. It’s my ex-girlfriend and I see her smile at me, but I feel pain seeing that.

“Why did she have to cheat on me?” I say to Lola the ex now.

She seemed to answer me in the painting “because she is a bad girl with no respect for a relationship”.

I fell on my ass unknowing if that was real, so I got back to my feet.

“What are you? I must be crazy, I’m talking to a painting” I say, so worried.

“I’m your creation and a part of your mind,” it says.

I look at the painting and yeah I’m a creator, but no way in hell is this real. I cover the painting again and I put my headphones on, then look through some sketchbooks. I was wondering if it’s just all the stress now that I see moving pictures. I put my fingers through my golden brown hair and feel so tired now. I decided to sleep for the night on the living room couch.

I brought out a blanket from the closet in the hallway and lay on the couch for some sleep to pass the night. Before I knew it the sun was trying to shine through my eyelids to blind me. So I got up and was surprised to see my mom in a chair next to the couch facing me, she was asleep.

“Mom? Why are you here?” I say pretty confused.

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“I thought you might need me, so I stayed to wait with you,” she says.

“I’m not a child anymore, I just slept here to get away from work,” I say, sounding mad.

“Karla, you know you can talk with me if something bothers you,” Mom says.

I get off the couch and clench my fists like I’m ready for a fight. I’m not quite sure if she cares or faking, doesn’t she notice how much of a freak I must be? A painting was chatting last night. A thought just hit me, why does mom never talk about my father? She says he was an artist once. Never said any more about him, so I need to know something more.

“Did Dad have moving pictures that were alive?” I said worried he didn’t.

“Why are you bringing him up? Are you hallucinating?” She says not answering my questions.

“Mom, you’re not listening to me,” I say angry now.

“You’re not like him,” she says as if it scares her.

“What do you mean? I’m just asking” I say very unsure why Mom said that.

What is she hiding from me? Is my dad possibly alive? I’ve never met him. I’m wondering why now, It isn’t the first time. It was when I was 5 years old and I wondered why I never had a father in my life. Mom always ignored my questions and brought me out of my memories.

“Who told you about your dad?” she says angrily.

“No one told me about him, why are you so angry about him?” I say starting to get angry myself.

“Because he left me alone,” Mom says.

She didn’t say we, so do I not matter in this case? I thought she cared about me. I ran away into my room and locked the door, I couldn’t keep my emotions in check. So I just cried and broke down into my emotions, I looked out my window. So I felt like going away from the house and decided to stuff a big sketchbook into my backpack. Then I put a traveler’s notebook and paint supplies in my bag.

Then get ready to go out my window, I went down the trellis and vines. Then I ran to somewhere other than my home, I wasn’t sure where I was going and Looking back at the house hurt. I just didn’t want to be here, so I ran to my friend’s house she lives a few streets away. So I used my shortcuts to get there, so I made it there a little tired after. I knock on the front door, don’t want to seem like a creep in the morning.

Her mom answers the door and I smile asking “Can I come in?”.

She let me it and said "what happened to you? You look like you've been crying".

"I've had fight after fight with people i love and feel broken" I say tired from it.

Emma came down the stairs, guess she might have heard my voice and wanted to see me. She saw my tear stained face, so I try hiding my face and felt like I was ugly crying. I don't like how I ugly cry, so I get insecure about my face at this time. Emma embraces me to calm me down and I try breathing slowly to calm down.