After a restless night of tossing and turning, Lisa was finally awoken by the wail of her alarm clock. For a moment, she contemplated letting it ring, but the rattling drone made her head pound, forcing the girl into action.

Her limbs heavy with lethargy, she stumbled out of bed, dragging her duvet behind her. It was cold, and she was reluctant to leave the sheltering warmth enveloping her. Reaching out an arm, she slammed the top of the clock, silencing it.

Despite her exhaustion, the teen was unable to return to bed, knowing that her mother would surely come knocking if she wasn't down in time for breakfast. It was frustrating, but that's just the way her household functioned.

A traditional family, Lisa's mother was determined to uphold the sickeningly sweet image portrayed in magazines. An outdated, old fashioned picture of perfection. Everybody had to be smiling, everybody had to be ideal.

The intern was never allowed to sleep late, even on weekends. If she failed to be up and dressed by nine o'clock, the fierce woman would waltz up the stairs and bang on her door, ensuring she get ready.

Illness was the only exception, and as the nurse didn't get sick very often, she rarely had an excuse to stay in bed. It seemed unfair to the girl, who was constantly pandering to her mother's selfish demands.

Rubbing at her heavy eyes, Lisa bravely shed her blanket, wrapping both arms around her fragile frame as she shivered from the chill. Curling her toes against the biting temperature, she gazed at the clock for a moment. It was almost eight. Too early.

Without even bothering to dry her damp hair, Lisa simply ran a towel over her strawberry locks, dropping the towel on the floor once she was finished. Slipping into clean undergarments, she donned her dressing gown and headed downstairs.

The girl's parents were already waiting for her, seated at the dining table with a teapot placed between them. At first they welcomed her with warm smiles, but those heartfelt gleams soon vanished the moment they laid eyes on her attire.

Without a word, the intern seated herself comfortably in her chair, tucking her dressing gown beneath her as she sat. Running a hand through her damp hair, she reached for the cup and saucer reserved for her, sending a deluge of water along the wooden surface.

Gripping the handle with both hands, Lisa poured the murky brown fluid into her teacup, adding a dash of milk and sugar before stirring it. With tight lips, she absently slammed the spoon against the rim, not realizing the force of her own irritation.

'Stop it.'

Her mother placed a hand over the top of the cup, a stern expression on her aging face. Despite being older and more mature than the infant she had once been, the disapproving tone of her mother's voice still resonated with the girl.

'You're daydreaming again.' She snatched the spoon from her daughter's grip, dumping it on the tray with a clatter. 'This set is priceless, you should be careful not to break it.'

Staring mindlessly at her tea, the nurse cupped her hands around the warming china, failing to understand what was so remarkable about it. The design was plain and common. She'd seen it many times before.

To Lisa, it was nothing but an antique, a constant reminder of how her ancestors forever lingered in the house. They would always plague her wherever she went, teasing and tormenting the girl for the decisions she had made.

She took a sip, scowling. Despite it's sweet flavour, the girl was left with a bitter taste on her tongue. Everything seemed to irritate her that morning.

'Are you hungry?'

She shook her head, stomach turning at such a question. She was far too nervous to eat, unable to muster any enthusiasm for her dying appetite. Even to think of letting food pass her lips was enough to send her pallid.

But the teen knew that refusing her request would bring an unwanted lecture from the bothersome woman. Breakfast was, afterall, the most important meal of the day.

Lisa beamed at her parent, two dead eyes betraying the otherwise pleasant notion. Her mother didn't see this. She rarely ever saw anything. Selective vision, that's what Lisa called it. The woman only ever saw what she wanted to see.

'Perhaps I'll have a slice of toast.' She replied.

'Toast, is that all?' The middle-aged woman's face fell, an expression of discontent clouding her features. 'But you're so skinny. I really wish you'd eat more.'

Fists hidden beneath the tablecloth, the nurse bit her lower lip, feeling sharp nails grazing the flesh of her knees. There was never any sort of satisfaction to be had with her mother. Eating too little, eating too much. It was all so frustrating.

'Then make it two slices.' The intern forced through a grimace.

Slathered in butter and slightly overdone, Lisa had to pick carefully at the bread, forcing back the growing urge to gag. A cough followed every chunk that slid down her throat, settling like a rock at the bottom of her stomach.

When she was finished, the intern slowly shoved the plate away, sitting static for a few moments whilst she let her meal digest. A thick, heavy sensation settled at the back of her throat, nauseating the girl.

'Thank you, I feel much better now.' She mumbled, getting to her feet. 'May I be excused?'

'Why, where are you going?'

The nurse froze, feeling the last remnants of her patience beginning to ebb. Where? Why? What? How? When? Always questioning, always acting as though her precious little girl was still a dependent babbling baby.

'I'd like to go for a walk. Maybe visit the bookstore.'

Curious, the woman studied her daughter closely, carrying a slight suspicion. Even at seventeen years of age, the girl still relied on permission from her mother. Without it, she was every bit as trapped as a caged animal.

Glancing at her silent, unassuming father, she felt that familiar fury welling up inside.

Say something, anything! Defend me! Stop being such a damn doormat!

Even as those words crossed her mind, Lisa immediately regretted them. She may as well have been gazing into a mirror, for the man was nothing but a reflection of her bad traits. Withdrawn, quiet, cowardly. Could such things be inherited via DNA?

'Don't be out too late.' Her mother finally spoke, running a towel across the now clean plate. 'Dinner will be ready at the usual time.'

Taking the stairs slowly, careful not to seem too excited, the intern shut her bedroom door, leaning against it for a brief moment as she released the breath she'd been holding. Lie. She had told a lie. White, but a lie nonetheless.

Taking the handkerchief from her drawer, the young woman heaved a sigh. Once again, she had forgotten to return it. Fondling it's comforting silk, she fought back the urge to cry, not wanting to soil it again.

She wasn't angry. Nor was she sad. Her tears were born from the desperation of a hopeless situation. Lisa wanted to blow all the life out of her lungs, spew out the very words that clung to her lips and stifled her screams. She wanted to be honest with her mother.

But she couldn't. She was merely a bird without a voice.