Death. The inevitable fate that stole everything away from me.

First, my mom, and now my dad.
I have no family.
No one to love me.

Even the tiniest glimmer of hope in me that someday my life will be sunshine and joy is gone.

Although it hurts to think I have nobody, I always do because it's true. I am alone.

I wonder when death will come for me too. I mean, I would love to die right now.

It's better to die than to exist.
Without being loved, not by anyone, not even by your own self.

If I were little Mia right now, I would be praying that God would take me away. He would send me to a far better place where my Sunday school teacher had said everyone was happy.

But I'm not little Mia anymore.

"... GET YOUR ASS OFF THAT BED AND GET READY, OR ELSE I WILL DRAG YOU BY YOUR HAIR!!"

My eyelids flare up.

I don't want to get up. Dad died a week after my visit, and it's been only another since then; I'm not done soaking my bed with tears.

However, Aunt Lisa's threats aren't to be taken lightly, so I bolt off my bed and into the bathroom.

After wearing dad's black KISS logoed t-shirt and khaki shorts, I run a comb through my shoulder-length scarlet hair. My emerald green pupils shut for a moment.

When they open to still behold a lanky hollow-eyed reflection with big flushed ears, I admit, "You are as good as dead," before storming down the stairs.

"Good thing you are ready," Aunt Lisa, who is smoking and making breakfast at the same time, perks without sparing me a glance, "By nine, we'll be at your father's apartment to pick up his shitty stuff."

"Oh, ok. Urm." My fingers hesitate to take an apple from the fridge. I don't know whether to be grateful for the free lift to my dad's place or suspicious of her true intentions. Usually, I am quick to identify her schemes, but my head is buzzing too loud for me to care now.

"And here I thought you'd be happy," Aunt Lisa sniggers, her raspy voice muffled by the joint and two perfectly manicured fingers.  Bone straight golden hair strands shiver to her sucking and puffing.

"Sure," I say dryly. She smirks, and my neck twitches, a tinge of rage flooding in. When her mouth starts to move again, I focus on a disjointed cabinet door left ajar for utensils to pick up dust, then the dirty dishes in the sink. Anywhere other than her sunlit face is good for me. I can't stand her looking so new and healthy- healthier than he was. All I want is to choke on my tears, and here she is suggesting, " we should sell his stuff too. We'll need the money."

"Sure."

*

The ride to my dad's apartment is quite long. I stick my head out of the window the entire time, enjoying the rushing wind as it blows against my face.

When we reach our destination, Aunt Lisa parks in front of the apartment.

"Wow, how wonderful!" Aunt Lisa smiles sarcastically at the tall brick building. "We're probably gonna be climbing 20 stairs to get to your dad's floor, that's for sure."

Unbothered, I get out of the car. I have lived here long enough to see climbing stairs as a routine, so it doesn't take long before I reach his floor.
Aunt Lisa, however, holds her knees, panting like a cheetah chased her once she catches up.

"Mia?" A familiar voice quirks. I turn to meet the navy blue eyes of Mr Jones, Dad's neighbour and buddy.

"Mr Jones," my lips curve into a smile as he gives me a warm hug.

"Oh Mia, you've grown really big! I remember you were just a little girl yesterday. Now look at you," he remarks in his thick Mexican accent.

"Yeah, kids grow fast these days," Lisa pipes in awkwardly. He doesn't hear her.

"My condolences for your dad's death.
I hope you are holding up well."

"Yes, sir," I try to cheer. Aunt Lisa sucks her teeth behind me, reminding me of her presence.

"Oh, Uncle Jones, this is my foster mom, Aunt Lisa."  My body whirls so that they face each other. "Aunt Lisa, this is dad's best friend, Uncle Jones."

"Oh, hello!" She grins instantly. "Nice to meet you," he replies. They heartily shake hands and then start asking each other what they do for a living while I rock on the balls of my feet. Eventually, I zone out.

"Mia, why don't you go ahead to pack the things? I'll join you shortly, " she mutters. Snapping back to Earth, I oblige.

How is adult talk so boring?... At least they are getting along. Oh wait, they are getting along...ew!

As I approach the door, the key glides smoothly into the lock, and with a banal creek, it swings open. I pause, taking in the details of the hallway.

Turquoise-painted walls brandishing a flat-screen TV and beige leather sofas gather dust. Stacks of CDs and books line the acacia shelves, including my beloved collection of Nancy Drew mysteries. I smile at the memory of the series my dad and I used to bicker over, one of our favourite characters being quirky Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory. Every inch of the space exudes warmth and familiarity, a stark contrast to Aunt Lisa's.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I drag my feet to his bedroom. As the door opens, my vision gets cloudy with threatening tears again. I gasp.

Everything smells like him! The white emulsion paint covering the wall, wooden wardrobes on the right, sage green bedsheets with his cinnamon scent...

"Alright." I take control of myself. " You should pick up the clothes first, Mia," pushing away memories flooding in.

I rummage through the wardrobe for valuable stuff, piling mostly his cocktail suits on the mattress. I fold them and search the room for a suitcase to pack them into. After a minute or two, my hands pounce on a giant electric blue leather suitcase under the bed.

I unzip it.

____
The song I'm obsessed with right now.
Bastille - good grief 👆

Thank you for reading this book.. even though I kind of suck in English. I'll make sure I get better, though.

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