"I'll be back later, Talia," my Mother sung. "Just try and stay out of trouble for your babysitter, okay? Please?"
"Don't worry, I'll probably be up here the whole time," I said. "I really want to finish this book."
I pointed to the open book sitting on my lap. She smiled. "Great," she said. She kissed me on the cheek and left the room, closing the door really quietly. I wanted to wait for my Mom to get home before I went to sleep, like I usually did, but she wasn't home by midnight so I decided to go to sleep anyways. The next morning, my babysitter was still at my house. She woke me up and told me that my Mom hadn't returned home last night. I didn't want to worry about it; I told myself that maybe she slept over at a friend's house or just lost track of time.
A few days later, someone had called the police, telling them that they found a dead body at the beach. That body had turned out to be my Mother's. I didn't want to believe that she was dead; I couldn't believe that she was dead. Only a few days before, she was... alive? Now she's gone. I'd never get to see her again. It was a really weird feeling, to know that you'd never see someone again. I didn't want to have to deal with it, so I avoided thinking about it at all costs.
About a week later, there was a funeral held for my Mom. As soon as I knew about it, I didn't want to go. I knew it would have made me feel even worse about my Mom, and I didn't want to have to deal with that. A lot of people were confused as to why I didn't attend, and whenever they asked, I would tell them that I was sick. Really sick.
My grandmother gained custody of me shortly after. Her house was very close to the beach where my Mom was found dead, so I tried to stay at my friends' houses so I wouldn't have to be reminded of it. My grandmother knew what I was doing, and told me that I was running away from my problems, but I didn't care. Avoiding my Mom like this made me a happier person.
I was only twelve years old at the time. Around the time I turned fifteen, my doctor diagnosed me with minor depression. I couldn't understand how I could be depressed. My grandmother figured that it had to do with my Mother's death, but I convinced myself that it wasn't the case. My grandmother forced me to go to therapy twice a week, every Tuesday and Thursday. I hated the therapy though, and every time I went, I would always refuse to talk about my Mom.
Eventually, after a couple months, I just stopped going. I couldn't take it anymore, I hated it. I'm not the sort of person to talk about my "feelings," and then everything will suddenly get better. My grandmother was mad when she found out, but she decided to just stop paying for it because she knew I wouldn't go anyways. My grandmother still punishes me for not going though; she never lets me go out on Tuesday and Thursday nights.
I'm 16 now. I still live with my grandmother near that beach, and I'm now in the eleventh grade. I don't have as many friends as I did when my Mom died, probably because they were sick of me being so clingy. Oh well, I sort of turned into a loner over the years anyways. I don't need anyone to be in my life anymore. I'm not the same girl as I was as a 12 year old.
And now my next story begins as I walk into school, unaware of the big things that are about to happen next.