That annoying beeping sound of my alarm is the first thing I hear as I'm staring into complete darkness. My only source of dim lighting comes from the moon that's barely shining through my window. I bury my face back into my pillow, groaning because I have to deal with another day of school.

Being a senior in high school has also come with an overwhelming sense of exhaustion that doesn't seem to go away. No matter how much rest I seem to get, I'm still lethargic.

I rub sleep from my eyes and run a hand through my hair, and release a groan when I hit a tangled spot.

"Ow." I grumble, and I sigh before sitting up.

I begin to blindly reach around for my phone, and I nearly blind myself because the brightness is all the way up. It's just after five in the morning, and so starts my everyday routine as a senior in high school. I walk over and flip up the switch on the wall, and my room is illuminated, and I have to squint so I can see.

I pack my work out clothes in my cheer bag because I have practice after school today. Ive been in cheerleading for quite a while, and it keeps me going sometimes. Having this tight camaraderie with these wonderful girls always brightens my mood. Cheerleading was something that I didn't think that I could do simply to the fact that I had no experience, but was determined to learn, and because I was rather introverted, so being in a team with multiple girls would be out of my comfort zone.

My father was the one who encouraged me to try out for cheerleading because he noticed how infatuated I was with the idea. I was so shy, and I didn't believe that I'd make the team, but I did.

All because of my father pushing me to do something I wanted.

Something so simple like a few words of encouragement lead me to a high school experience I'll cherish for the rest of my life.

My father was always the one to make me believe in myself and push me to do things that would make me happy. He was the voice of reason, and he was the one who always knew just how to comfort me. I can still see his wide smile flashing in my mind sometimes, which can bring me joy, but can simultaneously bring me sadness.

Whenever he'd attend the games, I'd always spot him in the crowd, cheering exuberantly for me, and I'd always feel such pride because I made him proud. There was no better feeling that having him hug me tightly and praise me for how hard I worked, and I know there wasn't a single second that he wasn't proud of me. His love was unconditional.

Sometimes I still look in the audience, thinking that I'll find him, but he's never there. Part of me still struggles to deal with the fact that he's gone, and the other half tries to move on and find a way to heal.

My father, the most important man in my life, passed away in a car accident when I was only thirteen. My sister, Laura, had already graduated high school, and our little brothers Spencer and Caleb were still toddlers.

Just thinking about it makes my heart hurt.

My mother received the phone call from the hospital, and the look in her eyes was so haunting. I knew that gravity and severity of the situation was large, and that our family may never recover from it. Everything in me just stopped once I heard that he had a slim chance of surviving. So many different things were rushing through my mind as we rushed to the hospital that day, and some of the thoughts I can still clearly remember.

Half of me was trying to be optimistic because that's how he was and how he would want me to be, so there was the idea that he would survive, but just be impaired for a while or maybe the rest of his life after the accident. Then there was the inevitable devil on my shoulder that was practically whispering in my ear that my father was as good as dead, and that he didn't stand a chance.

Seeing his body in that hospital bed, all bruised and battered from his injuries, tore me apart from the inside and slowly worked its way out. I missed school for quite some time so that I could spend as much time as possible by his side in the hospital, thinking he would miraculously wake up and get better.

Countless hospital visits later, his body finally gave up and he died due to his injuries. After he died, I missed even more school because I needed time to grieve. People gave me their condolences once I returned, but whenever they'd talk so loosely about their father and complain about them, I'd just silently hold in any comments I had about how I would give anything to see him again.

So many things in our house would remind me of him, such as the photos that hang on the wall of him with me and my siblings and our mother, or the roses that he would buy for my mother just to randomly surprise her. The empty spot at our dinner table. The scent of the breakfast he would make no longer lingered in the air each morning, and neither did the sound of the sports he would watch on the television.

There were so many things that kept reopening the wounds of losing my father, and there was nothing I could do to avoid it because I lived in it. But my mother didn't comfort me, not at all. So I had to lean on my sister.

Laura would be the one I'd run to whenever I felt sad, because my brothers were still too young to really grasp the gravity of the situation. Everything would come spilling out to Laura, and she'd let me stay in her room for as long as possible until I felt better. My sister has been more of a mother to me than our actual mother has been ever since my dad died.

And now that my sister is in college, I have to support myself.

We talk on the phone a lot since she's a full time student that never gets to come home and spend time with me and our brothers, and once she finishes college, she'll be traveling all over the place since she has wanted to become a language translator.

I shake away all of my depressing thoughts, and I quickly hop in the shower, and I quickly lather my hair with the shampoo and my body with the shower gel. I look at the clock after I'm finished blow drying my hair, and I still have about thirty minutes before I have to leave.

I quickly grab something random from my closet and my backpack and cheer bag before leaving my room. I stop in my tracks when I see my mother standing in the hall. She walks right past me, and into my room. My heart beat hammers so hard I can feel it in my throat.

Great.

"Why do I always have to remind you to make up your fucking bed?" Mom snaps.

I stay silent. I don't want to say the wrong thing and upset her even more. Shortly after my dad passed away, something inside of her switched, and she turned into this malicious person who only seemed to want to punish me. One day, I came in after hanging out with Xiu and Savannah, my two best friends, and I guess she just was angry that I decided to do that instead of coming straight home from school, so she slapped me.

I can still remember rushing up to my room and barricading myself in my room for the rest of the day, not eating or drinking because I was too afraid to go back downstairs and see her again.

She comes up to me, and she smacks me hard. The stinging sensation in my cheek causes tears to form in my eyes. I bite my lip, trying to stop it from quivering. I'm tired of making myself look weak in front of her like I have been for the past five and a half years.

"I'm sorry." I whimper, and she crosses her arms.

"Just make up your bed and hurry up before you're late." She growls, and I nod.

I turn around, making my bed as neat as possible as she watches me. My hands are shaking as I tuck in my sheets and smooth them over, and I drop the pillow before picking it back up and placing it on the bed.

"All of that makeup makes you look like a whore, and it doesn't make your appearance any better, so why bother?" She sneers, and I grit my teeth.

I wasn't allowed to wear makeup until I was fifteen, and that's because my father had said that, not my my mother. I honored his request even though he hasn't been here to say anything about it because it just felt right for me to do what he would've wanted me to do. The bruises that came with the abuse were just brushed off as cheerleading injuries to those who asked, the only people who knew of the abuse were Xiu and Savannah.

"I may not be the most attractive person, but at least I don't have a personality as ugly as yours." I retort.

I pick up my bag, quickly walking past her and down the stairs. The hatred that I have for her is definitely through the roof. In the kitchen, my two little brothers are already awake, and they're casually drinking juice boxes while standing near the fridge.

"Why are you guys awake? You don't leave for school until 8:30." I ask, opening the fridge and grabbing an apple.

They both look at each other, and then back at me before shrugging. I just laugh before ruffling their hair, and I take a bite out of my apple. Spencer and Caleb definitely mean a lot to me, and it would devastate me if my mother started abusing them as well, so I view myself as their shield.

"What happened to your cheek? It's all red!" Spencer exclaims, and I sigh.

"Don't worry about me, I'll be fine." Is all I can manage to say.

They both know that I don't have the best relationship with our mother, but they don't know that she abuses me. My mother doesn't want them to view her the way that I view her, so she tries her hardest to act like the loving mother with them around, but when it's just us, she's a complete monster.

My mom was never abusive, at least before my dad died. Ever since then, my mother has been physically and verbally abusive. She used to love me, and she always put me before herself like most mothers do. You would think that a mother would comfort her child after losing their father, but I guess my mother picked up a different parenthood book to read.

I lean down, giving them both a hug before leaving the house. Once I'm out of the door, the tears that I've been holding in my eyes escape, making my cheeks wet. Once I'm inside of my car, I look in my mirror, and I fix my runny mascara.

I was on a pedestal. The pedestal is broken now, and I'm buries under the debris, and trying to find the remainders of happiness is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

There's nothing. Not anymore.

She doesn't treat my younger brothers or my older sister like this. It's just me. Like I was in her line of fire.

Why?

What did I ever do to her, for her to treat me like I ruined her life?

She keeps telling me that I'm worthless, and that my father didn't care about me, which I knew was a lie. My dad was my best friend. I always went to him, instead of my mom whenever I had a problem. That's probably why she's abusive to me.

Because I never chose her.

I chose my dad.

I shake the thoughts from my head when I pull into the parking lot, and I stare into my deep brown eyes. A tear makes its way into my mouth, and I start coughing after the pungent salty taste coats my taste buds. I sit in my car for another ten minutes before I see a bus pulling into the parking lot. I drag myself out of my car, and into the school.

As I'm putting my cheer bag into my locker, I feel a hand tap my shoulder. A smile instantly forms when I see one of my closest friends.

Xiu.

I've known her since seventh grade, and we met in gym class. It all started because I complemented something that she was wearing, and all because of that I have someone who always knows how to make me laugh.

"Hey!" I squeal, and I hug her.

"What's up?" She asks, and she flashes me her perfect smile.

"I just got here," I reply. "I'm about to head to Pre-Calc."

"I have a test in science, right before lunch, and I know I'm going to ace it. I studied all night last night. I probably have bags under my eyes." She says jokingly, and points underneath her non existent eye bags.

"What eye bags?" I ask, and we laugh.

"The ones underneath my eyes! I barely got any sleep last night, so I feel and probably look like shit." She whines, and I scoff.

Xiu looks gorgeous, as always. She always complains about how bad she looks, when she always looks like a supermodel. The tall, skinny body, highly contoured facial structure, she's got it all. I always feel like a fat potato next to her.

"Anyway, I gotta go. I don't want to be late for class. Bye!" She says and gives me another hug before strutting off.

I smile, and then slam my locker shut. Then, I turn on my heel, and I begin to speed walk to class before I'm late.

And another tortuous day begins.