What are your parents like?

I am sure they are nice, or maybe some of you got the strict ones, but I am sure they love you unconditionally, no matter how tough or rock-hard they may be towards you. I, for one, hope and pray you do not have parents like mine.

They are the evil ones.

The ones who make you feel as if you were a mistake, as if you were unwanted,

like you were not loved.

I am sure you think I am over-exaggerating; I know I am not. You probably think I did something wrong to warrant such a terrible punishment from my parents, like maybe I broke my mom's favorite vase, or pushed my sister down the stairs, or burned dinner, or was caught making out with a boy in my room. But no, this was far worse.

I got kicked out of my home for something that was not even my fault.

Okay, maybe it was. But they failed to see that my intentions were good. My intentions are always good, but it seems parents don't give a damn about what is in their kids' hearts.

I probably shouldn't care because I know what is in mine, but unfortunately I do. I care a lot. These are my parents we are talking about, so I have to care. So much so that my tear sac suddenly became weak and broke, but I didn't mind walking around the streets of New York while I cried. I have other things to worry about, like the ever-burning pain in my chest that didn't want to go away. It's been over four hours since "the incident," yet the pain only seemed to skyrocket.

I suppose it did hurt that my parents kicked me out.

Or maybe it was the hate and disgust that they had in their eyes while they did.

Or maybe both.

The point is, it still hurt. I am hurt, and that is not something I am used to.

I mean, parents are literally the first people you get emotionally attached to. The first people you sought when you were cold, hungry, or needed protection.

Your true first love.

I admit, I made a mistake. I was very stupid. But I only did it because of them; I only had their best interest at heart, but I see now that no one cares about that. They only see the damage that has been done.

By the time I came upon the golden gates of the familiar estate, my feet were beyond sore, yet I still managed to move. Don't ask me how. I don't know either.

I don't know if you have ever been in this situation where the world around you seems to be going in slow motion at the same time that it is fast forwarded, or how it feels when your mind, body, and soul are numb. You feel lost, but at the same time you do not know whether you have been found or not.

I stood in front of the familiar gold, Italian-designed door for only God knows how long before I summoned the courage to raise my pale fists and knock. When my cousin opened the door, I was not in the least surprised by the look I received from her. What would you expect when you open the door to find your cousin, who lives four hours away in Boston, with red, swollen eyes and wearing pajamas standing in front of your door at nine pm?

"Oh, my God." That was all Chaya, my little yet not-so-little cousin said, swiping her hazel eyes up and down my body. I was only sixteen hours older than her, but everyone always treated us like twins. The irritation we felt when the members of our family did that was the only thing we had in common. We looked nothing alike; I was more on the thin side while she was thicker. And not to mention the fact that we have two different parents. But we were blood, and that apparently made us "sisters."

Her eyes fell on my little suitcase before saying, "Nyx, what in the world are you doing here? And why are you crying and wearing pajamas?"

"Chaya, did you just say Nyx?" My aunt's voice came as she poked her head through the doorframe to know who her daughter was talking to. I had to do everything within my power not to squint at the older woman due to all the flashy jewelry she had on. "Oh, sweetheart, come in."

Aunt Rhea took my hand in her incredibly soft one, and when I say soft, I mean cloud-like soft. I suppose it was one of the perks of being one of the most wealthy families in the state.

I stepped into the warm, royal-like living room; everything was either black or gold or both. The sofa, the curtains, the chandelier, the tables, the TV, photo frames, and even a few artefacts. The only thing different were the crystal white walls.

When my ass made contact with the heavenly sofa, I had to do everything in my power to avoid falling into dream world right away. Because that was all I wanted after the day I had. My violet eyes caught sight of Aunt Rhea's husband, Noam; he was leaning against the wall with a curiosity in his dark eyes.

Chaya sat beside me while her mom did on the other, and our hands were still clasped when she asked, "What happened? Tell us everything."

And I did.

I told them what happened—about my mistake, which was so grave that my own parents cut me off from their lives. The more words left my mouth, the harder it was to talk—even breathe.

The bile would occasionally rise in my throat, making me choke back on my tears. To make it worse, my aunt did not even try to hide the disappointment in her eyes. With the way I was sitting, I was unable to catch a glimpse of Chaya's expression. It did not matter anyway; she probably thought I was stupid.

Just like everyone else did.

By the time I was done, Aunt Rhea rose to her full height with a sigh. "Wait here, I'll talk to your father."

She took out her phone, and as she dialed my father's number, my heart rate only seemed to escalate. My father's voice was not one I wished to hear, especially now.

"For Christ sake, Kosi, she is your daughter!" was the first thing Aunt Rhea said as she pressed the phone to her ear.

I was pretty sure that the phone was not on speaker, but with the way my father screamed, my aunt had to push the device from her ears if she didn't want to lose her hearing.

"I'm telling you, Rhea, throw that damn creature out of your house. She is cursed!"

I felt Chaya scoot closer to me and wrap her arms around me. I guess I should have done a better job hiding the whimper that left my lips after hearing my father's words.

"She told me everything. I know and I get it. She messed up big time. But throwing her out on the street is not the solution."

"I AM NOT HAVING THIS CONVERSATION! I WANT NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT DISGRACE OF A CHILD, AND THAT IS FINAL!"

And with that said, the line went dead, and so did my heart.