Chapter 3

I woke to the sound of arguing.

I thought nothing of it. It was far too early in the morning to take note of anything regardless if I could hear the sound of crockery crashing in the distance. Nevertheless, it was enough of a racket to completely wake up, waving goodbye to all possibility of returning to my dreamless slumber.

I lay awake, staying still possible, trying not to make any noise in the process. I frowned as I tried to decipher the exact words of the screaming over the sound of smashing. I could feel the crease between my eyebrows deepen as I made sense of the words and the long list of cursing.

After the sound of the front door slamming violently shut and the last plate crashing against the door, I lay there for what felt hours afterwards, though I doubted it was more than a few minutes.

I tried to slow my heartbeat down, counting to ten as I did so. I wanted to say it helped, but my heart was still racing when my bedroom door slammed open.

"Get up you lazy girl, you'll be late for school," my mother spat, leaving the door wide open before I could reply.

I sighed in annoyance at her impatience. She had left quickly but it was enough time for me to see the large purple bruise forming on her right cheek. I shuddered as I realised it was in the distinct shape of a hand. I froze once I realised what it meant.

I had never got dressed so quickly in all my life. It amazed me at how much time I could save if I didn't spend more than a minute gazing at my own vanity. When I was done, I found myself fumbling for something to do, just delaying the inevitable confrontation. Sighing, I picked up my school bag and trudged down the stairs, startled at the pieces of crockery lying across the floor.

I hesitantly placed my bag at the foot of the stairs, remembering the crumpled piece of paper that was in its place yesterday evening. I fought back a shudder remembering the words typed in a clear black script. I walked carefully into the kitchen, never taking so much care in my entire life.

The door would have been closed other than the slight crack in which the words of my mother seeped through along with the early morning sun. I frowned again before soon realising that she was speaking on the phone. She spoke in a tone that she normally reserved for me when she had caught me arriving home in the early hours of the morning, but in a hushed whisper instead of the loud screaming. I liked to think I was the only person worthy of such a performance.

"Listen here you bastard," I fought back a chuckle, imagining the exact menacing facial expression my mother wore on her face, instantly feeling a wave of sympathy for the person on the other end of the line. "You come back here and sort out this monstrosity you have caused out. I don't care how and I don't care whether you sell your left kidney, but you come back and you sort this mess out now."

From what I heard, the rest of the conversation left my mother with the exact same response as the first causing me to think she was intent on the idea of the culprit sorting whatever mess they had created. I did not want to be in their shoes, and I spoke with previous experience.

The conversation eventually died down from hushed whispers to the clattering of cutlery, I took this as my chance to make an appearance.

I carefully opened the door, not quite silent but not loud enough so she would have to return to her previous tone. I wanted her to know I was here for her. I hesitantly made my way to the kitchen table where a rack of toasted bread stood with half of lump of butter with a butter knife wedged in; it looked like it had been wedged in a bit too forcefully. I gulped as I stood behind my chair.

My mother stood over the sink, elbows deep in bubbly soapy water, furiously scrubbing at yesterdays pasta bake.

"You're late for breakfast," my mother said, her back still back to me before I could say anything. Her voice was cold and hoarse, as if she had used up all her emotion and energy despite it only being 8 am.

"Are you okay?" I asked anxiously, not sure of what to expect as an answer.

"Hurry up and finish that, I have to attend some business," she replied briskly, still scrubbing at the same container despite it being clear of all signs of pasta.

"Where are you going?" I asked uncertainly, taking a bite out of the bread, stomach in knots.

"That's none of your concern," she said sharply, directly answering me for the first time. I flinched at her cold tone. "I'll be done by the time you come back home, now off you go," she said dismissing me, still not looking back.

I stopped on my way out at the leaning against the frame of the kitchen door to stare at her small frame furiously scrubbing away. I sighed; knowing that nothing I ever did to lighten the atmosphere ever worked with my mother, before picking up my bag at the foot of the stairs and leaving the house, letting the door slam loud enough for her to hear.

Our relationship was never as strained as what I had just experienced. But my mother always put some sort of strain on everything she could, but at the same time, I loved her for it. I brushed off what had just happened as her waking up on the wrong side of the bed or something of that equivalence. The bruise on the side of her face however, was something I couldn't explain without submerging myself into a whole different scenario I didn't want to experience.

As I stepped out of the house, I saw my father sat in the driver's seat of the car he drove to work. He worked for a bank in the city; the company gave him the car so he didn't have to take the train into the city every day. He sat stonily, not quite glaring through the windshield.

I shuddered picturing the bruise on mothers face. The sound of the morning's arguing filled my ears and I quickly made my way to school, glad that my father didn't notice me, saving me some awkward questioning. I didn't want for a moment to believe my father was the reason behind such awful things, but after this morning's turn of events, it was the only conclusion I could draw, I just wanted to live in denial for a while.

The day passed without a hitch, I didn't even fall asleep in any of my classes. It was only when I reached the outside of my house when everything started to crumble around me. It was as if I had been holding my breath since I had left the house that morning and as the police officer broke the news to me at the gate, I let out the breath that left me collapsing.

They were gone. Dead. Car crash. Immediate death. No pain.

The house was gone. They had gone to settle this massive debt my father owed to the bank he worked for. Fraud was written all over it, as well as numerous law breeches. The bank took the house to resolve it.

They let me in the house one last time so I could collect my belongings. My things fitted easily into a small suitcase I used to visit my Grandmother in Florence every Christmas before she died. The wheels creaked with every drag.

The post stuck out awkwardly in the letterbox behind the open door. I reached for it, wanting to leave it at the table by the stairs where our letters would be. I hoped to obtain a small amount of normality despite the circumstances.

I frowned when I saw my name printed in an elegant script across the front of the heavy cream envelope. I quickly tore open the thick paper with my shaking hands. It was from the performing arts university in Florence. I had received a place.

I would have let out a triumphant cheer if the time had been appropriate. Then it dawned on me that I would not be able to go. I had no money and I had no way in hell of getting a loan from the bank with my father's history.

Everything was gone within a matter of hours.

The story should start to get a bit more interesting and members from the Volturi are going to be making appearances.

Please review and let me know what you thought!