I'm rather used to her not being around so much that it was now weird for me when she was home.

Unfortunately, when she did show up, she'd either be nursing a very horrible hangover or barking orders at me. One night when she had shown up drenched in liquor, I wasn't shocked to find out that she had lost all three jobs she had.

If not for my father and the monthly check he sent to us, my body would probably be rotting in a ditch somewhere, so it's understandable why I was glad when dad bought us the house we live in.

Letting out a breath I didn't even know I had been holding in, I sauntered over to the kitchen and towards the fridge. I'm not sure what I was expecting to see and why it had even crossed my mind as we hadn't gone grocery shopping for the whole of summer.

I had lived off of pizzas and takeout.

Closing the fridge in disgust, I dragged my bare feet to the coffee table where my phone sat. I flopped down on the couch and held up two fingers.

I would just like to emphasize the fact that just because I am isolated to myself six out of seven days a week, does not mean that I'm crazy. Boredom however, is a much better explanation as to why I had two fingers in the air and why the nursery rhyme coming from my mouth helped in the decision as to what I would be eating tonight: Chinese takeout or pizza.

As fate decided for me, I called up Emmy's Kitchen and made my usual order for three: Kung Pao Chicken for me and two orders of Chicken Fried Rice for my mother and whoever she dragged home with her tonight.

As I waited for dinner to show up, I stared at the mantle that had once held the memories that everyone but myself had forgotten and the new traditions we had taken up in this household: my mother bringing in strays to sleep with each night, the fridge that was always empty, and the long silent nights spent watching cable television alone.

I couldn't even remember when the word "alone" became the only word left in my dictionary, and I also didn't remember when I had deemed any of it acceptable, but I just couldn't bring myself to care anymore.

As my eyes wandered, they took in every detail of the house and how it all currently seemed to portray my mood. The walls were a dull peach color; the furniture that was scattered pointlessly around didn't match the walls but didn't stand out on their own either. The old and dusty floorboards creaked in certain sore spots where it had been abused or mistreated and the corners of the ceilings had gathered cobwebs over the weeks of no cleaning or dusting.

At that point, images in my head brought back memories of what the house used to be like: sunlight streaming in through lightly closed curtains, laughter bouncing off the walls, and the aroma of home-cooked meals wafting throughout the entire house.

As the images flashed through my mind, I pondered on the fact that I once had a family.

Even though it was just a summer ago; to me, it seemed like a lifetime.

Thinking back on all the events that had taken place this summer, Lolita, who visited me from time to time, was lucky not to have witnessed any of it.

It was all my fault that everything fell apart and even though everything and everyone else around me had accepted it and moved on, I couldn't. The fact that Lolita crept in through my bedroom window almost every weekend helped me forget that it had even happened in the first place.

Though Lolita had a.s.sured me countless times that she was still part of my family and would always be there for me, having a family felt like history to me.

The doorbell rang and pulled me out of my thoughts. Sighing, I pushed myself off of the couch I was nestled in and strolled nonchalantly towards the door.

"Good evening," the same boy that had delivered Chinese to me for the past three months stood there with a straight face in his usual ugly orange delivery uniform. His voice was a monotone and his face blank as he handed me the bag of takeout and stood there patiently for the cash.

I set the table, complete with utensils, napkins, and bowls, before placing the Chinese rice still in the packaging for my mother and her plus one on two plates. After I had washed my hands, I sat down and poured my food onto an empty plate. I picked up my knife and fork and slowly, began eating the chicken I had grown all too familiar with.

As I ate, I looked over at the empty chairs around the table blankly, mentally comparing the dinner I was having to the many dinners we had had as a family moons ago. I finished eating and put the plate in the sink before grabbing my belongings and trudging up the stairs to my room.

As I undressed in front of the bathroom mirror, I stared at the purple marks on my arms and legs. A few long-sleeved s.h.i.+rts and pants should cover those up, no problem, although I couldn't say the same about the purple bruise above my right cheek.

"You'll be fine," I murmured as my eyes traveled over the bruises. I ran a hand through my hair, sighing as my gaze wandered back to my eyes

I shook my head and looked away as I stepped into the shower, letting the hot water attempt to wash away the grabby hands I still felt tingling disgustingly on my skin to this day.

To say I wish I could take everything back to before the beginning would be an understatement.