I'm sipping an iced caramel mocha at Starbucks, waiting for my best friend, Allison Argent, to show up so we could catch up. Her family had gone camping and she'd just returned the night prior. I'm excited to tell her about the renovations I made to my bedroom, and how I recently discovered I like rock music. I have no intention in telling her about my parent's argument topics. Shoot, I haven't even told her about how my family is falling apart, because of me. I am their argument topics, every last one of their fights are about me.

A good-looking guy walks in the small café, and I pout my lips sexily, looking up at him through my thick lashes. I wear a coy half-smile and widened my eyes in an attempt to catch his attention. His blue eyes catch mine and my smile widens. He seems to be debating on whether to come over and talk to me or get into the small line to get his coffee.

"Hi," he says walking over and taking the seat that Allison should be seated at.

"Hello," I purr, glancing down for a split second to make sure my breasts are perfect in the low cut blouse I'm wearing. Seeing that they are I wrap both of my hands around my chilled drink, and wait for his response.

"I'm Ian," he responds a little wary. What's the problem? Am I not pretty enough for him? Can he see that really I'm scared? That I have no confidence at all?

"Lydia Martin," I say proudly. But in all actuality it hurts me more to say the name, after hearing it in so many of my parent's arguments. I make sure my dimples are showing, and then glance to the side to notice Allison just walking in the café, a grim look on her face until she spots me. She gives me a small smile and starts heading over.

"Ian, this is my best friend Allison," I say removing my hand from my cup to motion towards Allison, my smile even wider. Finally, I haven't seen her since Monday, it being Saturday now.

"You're in my seat," Allison says to Ian, walking up. As usual she's wearing a leather jacket, a stupid thing to do on a hot September day. It's at least ninety out and she'll get heat stroke if she stays outside for too long. Why does she always wear it? Even on her dates with her stupid boyfriend Scott.

"Allison!" I exclaim, "Don't be rude! Grab a chair from the table next to us and pull it over, we can all enjoy our coffees together!" How dare she shoo away a hot guy? She ignores me and glares at Ian, who keeps glancing from Allison to me. Probably trying to decide how we're friends, with her being a bitch right now, and me being so nice. Isn't she happy I had the will power to even pull up confidence I don't even have to get the guy come over here? Never mind, she doesn't know my self-confidence is fake, because she's been to busy ignoring me while my life crumbles down around me.

"It's fine, I'll see you later Lydia... Allison..." he says getting up, holding the chair out for Allison. What a jerk. Not for holding her chair out, but for leaving, and a blow to my already non-existent self-confidence.

"Whatever," I say pouting for a second before turning to Allison with narrowed eyes.

"He was taking up my time, I have to meet Scott soon, so can we make this quick?" she says messing with her hands, like always when she wants to get out of something. She looks a little worried. I wonder what's so important about her stupid boyfriend that can't wait for me, her best friend. I haven't seen her in a few days, nor have I talked to her. Apparently they didn't get service where they went. Why can't it just be us two, so I can tell her about my horrible life? So I have somebody to lean on? But no, her boyfriend is more important than me obviously.

"Whatever, because your boyfriend is obviously more important than I am," I say crossing my arms careful not to touch my silk blouse with my wet hands. I should've dried my cup off before holding it. Does she miss me like I missed her? Or does all she care about is Scott McCall, her stupid boyfriend?

Her eyes quickly glance down at my cleavage, before she rolls her eyes with a humoured look on her face, and mutters a wow. "What's with the hooker's shirt?" She asks motioning towards my lovely cleavage. Is she jealous because hers aren't as nice as mine? Not that you can tell with that leather jacket of hers, and the ugly grey shirt that practically goes to her neck underneath it. Another reason she's going to have a heat stroke. And it's wool. Who the fuck wears a wool shirt and leather jacket when it's ninety degrees outside? First off, who the fuck wears a wool shirt in the first place?

"First off, you're changing the subject; secondly, it's not a hooker's shirt! And third, it's a blouse not a shirt!" I say, my lips in a hard line, eyes narrowed. Is she calling me a hooker? If so, that hurts. She'd be happy to know I've only actually slept with anybody one time. And it was with my ex-boyfriend, Jackson, who I'd been dating for almost a year before we broke up. Well, he broke up with me. What made it all bad was the fact he broke up with me a mere two weeks after we had sex. He threw away any confidence I had when he broke up with me. Now I have to act, act like I'm happy. Act like I'm stupid, that I don't hear, act like I'm confident, and can face the world. It's all an act because inside I feel nothing. No happiness, no confidence, nothing, absolutely nothing but pain. The only thing I have is pain, and a wall that's cracking, cracking with each word Allison says, with each action she does.

She raises a brow and sighs. She opens her mouth like she's about to say something but closes it, still deciding on what to say. She was about to say whatever, but she didn't because she hates the word, certainly when I say it, which is all the time. "Aright Lydia it's a blouse," she finally says, and then sighs again, seeming a little distracted. She pulls out her cell phone, and looks down at it while biting her lip. How rude... she can't even say I'm glad to see you? Or I missed you while I was gone? I hold back tears at this and she doesn't look up even after a minute of silence. I can feel my bottom lip start to poke out, and I know I'll be crying in a few minutes, maybe even less.

"I missed you! It was horrible how your parents dragged you away for a few days to freeze your ass off in a tent! Now that you're back you need to stay the night at my house! Maybe we can drive down to San Francisco, just us two, and..." I trail off when she puts her phone to her ear. I hear it ring a few times before the answering machine picks up. Was she even listening? Why would she call somebody while I'm talking to her? I blink a few times hoping I don't cry. Please don't cry. The tears just keep bubbling up but I hold them back. My lip pokes out even more and my face starts to crumple up.

"Hi, Scott… its important, please call me back," she says after Scott's recorded voice says to leave a message and the sort. She hangs up and sets her phone down on the table facing her, screen still on. She glances up at me and it's like she just realised I'm here, "Oh Lydia! Sorry but I think I'm going to have to leave..." she trails off, then her phone rings. She instantly accepts the call and puts it to her ear. Did she even see that I'm about to cry? Did she see the hurt look on my face, the pain?

"Oh... I'll see you later I guess..." I trail off not even bothering to grab my mocha as I walk to the door, shoulders hunches, heels being dragged across the floor.

A woman in her forties that was sitting at the table next to the door stands up just as I walk by and I accidentally bump into her. I can practically count the seconds until I start to cry, and I only have about a minute, probably less.

"Sorry miss, should've looked up befo-" she cuts off seeing my face. "Are you okay?" she asks instead. I stare at her, stare through her, and keep blinking, trying my hardest to hold off tears that are going to come anyways. "Bad break-up?" she asks. Who the fuck looks this bad after a break-up? My parents might as well have died with the look on my face. This is more than a petty boyfriend. This is my parents, my best-friend, and the ones that I love!

"Nothing," I whisper. That's what I am to them now, nothing, they don't care about me! If my parents loved me they wouldn't yell such hurtful things about me at night. If Allison loved me she wouldn't ignore me when I need her the most. And it's not even like I didn't try and tell her about my parent's arguments! I do, all the time, but she's never paying attention.

"Oh well, feel better I guess," the woman says patting my shoulder, and then walks to the bathroom.

I proceed out the door and the heat of the day hits me, making my body feel heavy. I head to my car and unlock it slowly, hands to shaky to get it right the first time.

I slide into the driver's seat and sigh. I slump against the seat as the tears are unable to be held back any longer. It hurts to think of the way Allison was acting towards me. I haven't seen her since last week and she's more worried about her boyfriend. Ever since she's been dating him, she has been a little distant.

It's not even just Allison who's been ignoring me, my parents too. They seem distant, and it's always so tense. Even to each other they're tense.

It's not that I don't know what's going on with my parents though, divorce. With Allison I don't have a clue and have no way to figure out her odd behaviour. My parents were easy to figure out, certainly with the arguing every single night, arguing over me. I think my heart skipped a few beats when Mom threw out the word divorce one night. I cry after each argument.

My parents can't get divorced! My parents were in love! They were happy, Dad was a successful businessman, and Mom was also a successful businesswoman. They have a wonderful house, had a happy child, a happy marriage! What's the problem? What else do they need?

Dad says I'm vain, egotistical, self-centred, and snobby. He says it's Mom's fault, because she allows me to shop how I please. Mom yells back at him saying it's his fault I'm this way, or that way. Are they really blaming each other for my personality? Are they that sickened by the thought of me that they have to get a divorce?

Do they even love me? Dad calls me a whore. He even went as far as saying that I could never get raped, because I'm too willing. That hurt a lot. Why would he say such a thing when there's even the possibility I can hear? Why would he say such a thing period? I'm his daughter! Why would he say something like that about his own flesh and blood?

The next morning they try and act normal, telling me they love me, kissing me, and hugging me. But always the strange looks when they think I'm not looking. Things have changed since they've started arguing, no more family trips, no more spending time together just being a happy family. How do they even look at me and say they love me after saying such hurtful things?

There is always a fight about money, 'Lydia spends up all my hard-earned cash on sluttish clothing that's just going to get her in trouble and we'll have to pay even more money.' I think they meant I'll get pregnant or get an STD. I cried even more. I don't even have sex with guys! That's what makes this so much worst, that they just assume. Assume every time I leave the house I'm off having sex with a random guy. That's what hurts, that they just assume.

They think I'm stupid, that I don't have ears. They think I'm just a retarded bimbo whore. I don't even believe they love me. Why would they, if I'm just a whore to them. They don't even take the time to even talk to me; they never have the 'talk' with me anymore. They just assume that I sleep around and telling me not to will be no use. If only they asked me, it could be simple as 'Hey Lydia, are you a virgin?' That's it! I'd reply 'No, but I only had sex once, with Jackson.' Then they could stop calling me a whore and slut, and stop arguing. They could be happy and stay together. We could go on weekend trips like we used too.

Every night I cry now. The arguments get worse; their insults to me get worst. It would almost be like they were reading a magazine and laughing at how this bimbo is a slut and how she's going to get herself a STD, only they don't laugh, it's not just a random bimbo, and they yell at each other blaming one another for my personality, my behaviour. Is it really the state of my virginity that's tearing this family apart?

Now I'm crying, quite hard actually. I can hardly see the road with my blurred vision so I pull over. The tears never end as I sit in the middle of the free-way. Maybe a car will crash into me and I'll die. Nobody will care, not my parents, not Allison. The only people I love and care about. My parents might even be overjoyed and stop arguing. They'd be happy all their money wasn't being spent on my sluttish clothing. They'd be happy they wouldn't have to walk on egg-shells around me. They might even stay together and be happy again. Allison wouldn't have to worry about me and can focus on just her stupid boyfriend. I'm nothing to them, nothing at all.

Haven't they all realised I'm just a façade, that my words and actions are just a mask, a mask to the real me? I'm just a scared, non-confident, sixteen year old girl. A girl whose parents think she's a whore, and whose best friend values her boyfriend over her best friend.

Maybe I'm just over-reacting. Maybe I'm blowing this out of proportion and over-thinking it. It's highly doubtful though, with the clear words of my parents after they think I've sneaked out or fell asleep. My mom's shrill voice yelling things like 'It's your fault Lydia is such a whore! If you paid more attention to her maybe she wouldn't feel like she needs to run off and sleep around!' or my fathers booming voice yelling something like 'Well if you didn't allow her to spend money on sluttish clothing, then maybe she wouldn't be out gallivanting, giving her body out to any and every guy she comes across!'.

I try to ignore their yelling voices but sleep never comes, not until they finish their arguments, until after I hear my father snoring, after I've the fatigue of crying over-comes me and I fall asleep with tears streaking down my face.

Nothing, that's what I am to them, Just extra money they spend, extra worrying, and extra energy.