Stage Lights || H.S.

the birthday

Luna

"She's worried about you." Amy sighed, pushing the door open.

Amy had a great relationship with my parents. Not only for the fact that we grew up together and she's basically a part of the family, but because my parents needed her to know if I was alive or whether I was on the west, east, or middle of the country -or if I was in the country at all. So Amy is what we call the snitch, my parents know I pick up her calls and talk to her, so they use her to get to me.

She was what my mom always wanted me to be: Successful, ambitious, studious. She was on her senior year at UCLA, had an internship at the Los Angeles Times, perfect grades and perfect gpa. Everything perfect. She talked literature with my mom, music and culture with my dad, and she was the daughter they wish I was.

"Doubt it." She fired me a look before pulling me by my wrist into the house.

Just like any other house in Beverly Hills, it was big, expensive and shinny. The floor was so clean I could almost see my reflection through it, and it smelled like lavender. I threw my worn out cross-body bag on the floor before moving in.

"Renee?" I yelled and my echo yelled right back at me.

I looked at Amy confused and she just shook her shoulders, making her way into the house.

"Maybe they're outside."

The house was huge, a light beige toned mansion almost always empty on the inside. That's how it always was growing up: empty. We walked into the kitchen, the light coming in from the outside, where Amy made her way to, sliding the door open letting the breeze hit her face and blow her long wavy black hair. I walked towards the island in the middle of the big room, on top of the marble top was a small white cake with pink decoration. Happy Birthday, Luna, it read.

I laugh at the irony. An empty house and a perfect cake for a not-so-happy birthday, a perfect empty family.

I slid my hand into the back pocket of my black skinny jeans and pulled out a small metal box. Inside of it was a white lighter and with that I lit up the small pink candle that was on the counter top, and placed it on the cake. Then a cigarette from the box I placed in between my lips.

"They must've..." Amy walked back in giving me a disappointed look. She hated when I smoked, but I didn't really care. I lit the cigarette before sliding the box back into my pocket.

"Happy Birthday to me." I inhaled the smoke and blew it out, putting the candle out with the grey wind coming from my lungs.

Amy slammed the door shut and walked past me with heavy steps, she rolled her eyes and at that moment I knew she was mad. She was a very sensitive person and, although she never held grudge, Amy easily got upset. Specially with me.

I turned on my heels and quickly followed her out of the kitchen, taking another hit of the cigarette in-between my fingers.

"What now?" I spoke before she could reach the handle to the front door.

"What now?!" She yelled and laughed, there was sarcasm in her tone. "What now?!" Amy repeated once again. "Don't you, for just a second, stop to think about me?"

"I..." She interrupted me.

"No, Luna! The answer is no, you don't." Her voice was loud in the house, the top ceiling and modern lack of furniture in the hall made it echo. "None of you do." She sighed and crossed her arms on her chest. "You leave without telling me where and you come back looking like this. You're a mess!" I look down at the cigarette burning and my pale skin, two bruises on my arm. "What's the matter with you? Why do you do this to yourself? Do you know how bad those things are?"

"It's..."

"Shut up!" She screamed making me take a step back. "Stop making up excuses. You're fucked up! I just wish you weren't." She gasped. "I just wish things were normal, like when we were, what? Fourteen? Fifteen?"

Those words hit me like a punch and I could tell Amy was fighting back the tears.

"You're not being fair."

"I'm not being fair?!" She laughed sarcastically. "All I've been doing since you left is trying to get you back home so you don't do anything stupid. I've been worried sick about you! Do you even care?"

"Of course I do..."

"You don't!" She uncrossed her arms and held her cross body brown leathered bad tight. "And, you know, they might not be here, but I've always been, and you act like I don't fucking matter. But I'm always there for you."

"Amy..."

"Maybe you shouldn't come over... Just stay here for the night."

With that, she opened the front door and slammed it shut, leaving me alone with a chandelier hanging on top of my head. I brought the cigarette to my lips once again, inhaling the smoke in a long hit that filled my lungs with nicotine.

That wasn't my first birthday alone.