That night wasn't like any other night. I felt the moon shining brightly over my unfortunately blonde hair. I watched the night; wishing and hoping that one-day I could belong to it. The world in itself held no fascination for me. There was nothing in the world that was beautiful to others and me as well. People said beauty is relative, and to me there had never existed beauty like the night. I had not met a man whom I thought was gorgeous, not even Brad Pitt. Even the most beautiful man to some beheld no beauty to me.

The wind brushed my fair skin sending goose bumps all over my skin. That was where I belonged, I always thought. I belonged to the night, the moon, and the stars. I belonged to the unknown.

The only part of the day that I aspired was the night. I loved the darkness, and the beauty that withholds it. But I hated when I always had to come back to reality.

"Celeste, come in here . . . Please!" I knew Vanity soon was going to shout out for me. Vanity was my mother, was always was. I never called her Mom or anything of the kind. She didn't encourage it. I didn't mind much either.

Vanity and I had an understanding. She had delivered me when she was young, and she hated herself for doing it. She could have never killed someone intentionally so she decided to have me. Vanity was a beautiful woman, still young but somehow over the years she became more and more solemn. It was sad to see such a remarkable being be swept away by the reality of the vile world.

I grabbed my sketching notebook firmly behind my back. I marched inside trying to quickly understand why she was angry. She only yelled when I did something wrong or she had important news. Either way, the two options sounded pretty foul to me.

I entered the kitchen to see her on one of the stools. Vanity had her black hair in a ponytail, and her blue eyes were penetrating. I always asked myself why I had to look like my father. It wasn't fair that I looked like Darrell; Vanity was way prettier. Vanity also had what I had always wanted; she had dark hair. She patted the stool next to hers gesturing me to sit down.

I sat down on the stool next to hers. "What's going on?" I could tell she had news. I couldn't tell what kind.

She wrinkled her nose (never a good sign). "I was fired today." I noticed bruise like marks underneath her eyes. She had obviously been crying. I was so blind to important details.

I tried to find sympathy. "What happened?" I never thought Vanity's job was very flashy but she seemed enthralled in it.

She pursed her lips. "I was being treated unfairly, so I decided to speak up." I nodded in approval. "Biggest mistake ever. Richard threw a huge hissy fit and I was fired."

My mother worked as a waitress at a fancy restaurant. She was never paid well but she got some pretty good tips. Plus, she always met the richest men. Every night she brought a different one back home. I would never say Vanity was a whore but she was looking for the right man.

I have always been very grateful to Vanity for being a mother like figure, in a way, but she never intended to be a mother figure. If she could do it over, I'm sure she would abort.

"Did you hear me?" Her eyes were piercing into mine and her eyebrows were smashing together. I seemed to have missed the important part.

"What?"

"We're moving to Hudson," she almost whispered expecting a big scene. She was right; I would make a scene.

"What? I'm almost a senior and you're making me move someplace where I don't know anyone? That's pure evil Vanity, even for you." She stared at me astounded by my words. Each one of my words had slowly cut her, and I could tell.

She grabbed my arm. "I don't care what you think you little infant. We're moving in with Mom and that's final." I glared at her until she let go of my arm pushing me away with it altogether.

I could feel my ears throbbing with anger; they were burning up. Vanity was being completely selfish, why couldn't she find herself a real job?

My feet made their way to my room on their own. I slammed the door behind me, and turned on the itunes on my computer. I turned up the volume as loud as I could until I could hear was 12 stones. The music was banging around me, back and forth against the walls of my soon to be old room. It was devastating to leave the only place in the world that I considered a home.
Vanity and I have moved around a lot. We stayed at hotels, and whatnot. The first place I actually felt comfortable was this small house. It was a one-floor house, but still had it's charm. I never was a big fan of huge mansions. Mansions were interesting of course, but in a small house you always knew what was going on.

I denied it to myself that I was leaving this place I had learned to love and appreciate so much. I hated to believe that my life was going to give a sudden change that I really didn't want.

I jumped on my bed, which still had the same velvet colored sheets I had bought with Vanity about three years ago. My room had hardly been decorated or changed. The room was painted white, no colors. I had a drawer, which was the same velvet color as my sheets (it wasn't on purpose). There wasn't a piece of clothing on the floor, because I couldn't stand a messy room. If I saw a piece of clothing on the floor I would freak. Vanity always thought it was OCD, but it wasn't.

I stuffed my self underneath the velvet sheets hoping I could wake up from the horrible nightmare. That maybe if I didn't move it would all go away. I drifted into sleep.

The next morning I noticed no matter how much I clutched onto my sheets, I was moving. The more I tried to hang on, the faster the process.