Emily's POV

"Yeah now it looks better," I said to myself as I gave the finishing touch to my painting.

It was a painting of a girl dancing in rain. I didn't know how I ended up drawing it but I just did. There was something about rain that mesmerized me to an extent where I forgot all my worries.

I should probably hang this o–

My thoughts were interrupted as I heard someone slamming the door and then the shattering of a glass.

Huh! Not again.

I sighed as I went downstairs to face my mother. She was sprawled on the floor with a broken bottle of beer in her hand and was mumbling incoherently under her breath.

"Mom please, get up, you can't do this to yourself every day," I said while picking the pieces of glass up from the floor.

She didn't respond at first. As I tried to get the bottle away from her she turned her head towards me

"What the hell you think are you doing?'' she asked while taking the bottle in her other hand away from my reach.

''Mom this isn't good for your health. You should stop cons– ''

"Ha! And why do you think you can tell me what I can or cannot do? You're not my mother!" she yelled at me while getting up and taking out another bottle of beer from the fridge.

"Mom please st—"

"OH YOU BETTER SHUT UP AND GO BACK TO YOUR FUCKING ROOM," she yelled and lied down on the couch taking a gulp from the bottle of beer.

I knew that even if I tried I wouldn't be able to do anything about her situation at that moment. I would end up hurting myself even more so I did what she told me to do. I left the broken pieces of glass on the floor and went back to my room.

I closed the door and sat against it. I felt my eyes prickle but I refused to cry. I couldn't cry over her. I knew she wasn't my mom. I remembered the times when she wasn't like this. When she cooked food for us. When she took me to the park with my brother. When we were happy.

Suddenly the thought of my brother, Christian, made my eyes watery.

But no, I couldn't cry. Crying made you weak and I couldn't afford it right then. I didn't want to be weak at the point in my life when I should be strong enough to cope with this.

I sat there for what seemed like forever remembering the old good times. It was past midnight when I stood up and went downstairs.

My mother was sleeping on the couch. I took deep breaths and started picking up the broken pieces of glass from the floor and cleaned the mess she made. When I was done doing the chores I headed back to my room but suddenly turned around and saw my mom sleeping peacefully on the couch.

I took a blanket and placed it on my mom.

I couldn't hate her even if I wanted to. No matter what she did or how she treated me. She would always be my mom who once cooked me pancakes and made my hair every day.

I went back to my room after a while. I took the canvas that I painted and hung it against the wall opposite to my bed. I crawled onto my bed and stared at it and after a while I let the darkness of a deep slumber consume me.

*********