As soon as the taxi pulled into my driveway, I bolted, and ran to the door. 11:24 PM. Mother must already be home. I saw her car in the front of the house.

Tip-toeing, I tried to get in as quietly as possible. No such luck. My mother was standing in front of me, a disappointed yet furious expression drawn across her face.

Ignoring her, I headed for my room.

"Connie, I've told you several times that y -

Slamming the door in her face, I pulled out the first book I found, pretending to read. I heard my mother pace outside of my room, and sigh heavily. Nothing followed.

I had already gotten used to this. Come home, argue, ignore, repeat. If I'm lucky, we skip the second step. We never had a good relationship, but ever since dad died, it had only gotten worse. I had created a band with four other friends. My mother had always been against this idea. It was a "trash band" that made "trash music" and made me look "emo" according to her. I was "wasting my time" and it was "useless". I rebelled strongly because this band was the thing I loved most. I loved making music, and the people in the band were like my family because my biological one was such a mess.

My dad had always supported me when I wanted to be part of this band even when mother was opposed to it. However, when he passed away all that changed. He had been hit by a truck, a hit-and-run case. I saw him in my dreams every night. Nightmares. We never found the culprit.
I looked down at the book I was pretending to read. Every day was the same. I lost interest in living; nothing seemed to really matter to me anymore. I didn't know if my mom hated me, or if she just took all her anger out on me. Did it even make a difference? My life seemed like a movie in black and white. But my movie didn't have a happy ending.