Pushing Limits (Fighting Love #1) - kali cross Page 0,2

girl, drugs, disrespectful….I did everything I could.” She wipes away a fake tear and smirks at me with a snort as my stomach turns. “Don’t push me.”

With a strange detachment, she studies me. “You’ve changed over the last few years. I don’t know who you are anymore. I mean, really? Not one, but two colleges in a year...how you managed to flunk out twice is unimaginable,” she says with utter disdain. “Your grandmother would be appalled.”

She looks at her manicure, her voice cold. “When you asked to come home and attend school here, we welcomed you home.” She shakes her head in disgust. “How did you repay us…an incident that almost cost me the election? You thought you knew how to handle any situation, didn’t you? All grown up, I’m an adult now. You don’t choose my friends, run my life. Isn’t that what you said? Who did you run to when things got rough? Me. I had to clean up your mess. Did you ever think for a moment about me or the repercussions to the family?” Her eyes glint as she glares at me.

Straightening, she pulls herself up to her full statuesque height, demanding, “Get your things packed. I’m going to call your aunt.” Jerking open the door, she stomps down the hall as she slides her iPhone from her black Prada suit and dials my aunt.

The tears sting my eyes and trickle down my cheeks. Staring at the door, devoid of any hope, it hits me. I am so fucked.

She’s right. I don’t have anywhere to go. I have no money of my own. All I have is a high school diploma. Who would hire me? Even if I could get a job, where would I live? I don’t have anyone I can stay with. Logan would probably let me stay a few days with his family, but I couldn’t live there. He shares a room with his two brothers, and his parents wouldn’t appreciate another mouth to feed. I have a few friends from school but they’re all in college.

Grabbing my toothbrush and makeup from the bathroom, I notice my face in the mirror. Tears stain my checks, my mascara streaking down my face. I wipe the tears away. Running my hands through my short pale pink hair, my face filled with sadness, frustration…desperation. As I wash my face, my hands gliding over my soft skin, I wonder if she ever really wanted me.

Why the hell did she have me in the first place? She acts like she hates me, like I’m a constant disappointment. Was I merely the predicated next step to the life she craved?

Nothing more than another item on her checklist: Wealthy family – check, Ivy League education – check, old money husband – check. A child must have been the next logical step to her ultimate goal – running for political office. I am simply part of the pretty picture she painted for the world to see. The perfect family. My mother lives and breathes that shit. Money, social standing, power…those are the important things.

All I ever wanted from her was love. When I was old enough, at the decidedly mature age of six, I was sent off to boarding school. The parents would arrive to pick up their kids from school, anticipation and happiness filled the air. All my friends would rush into their mother’s arms, smiling and excited. Warm hugs and kisses. I would rush to her, too. I was always greeted with a quick embrace and a curt hello. That is, if she came at all. Most of the time, she sent our housekeeper, Elise.

When I came home, sometimes I wouldn’t see her for days. I would ask Elise where my mommy was, and she would tell me some story about how my mother had to be away for this or that. I got used to being alone. I had Elise and Arthur but it wasn’t the same. I wanted her. I was forced to be independent early on. All she wanted to hear about were successes, that is, when I actually saw her.

The maternal gene is clearly missing in my mother. My entire childhood was spent with nannies. Only trotting me out every now and again for holiday parties and special events, my sole purpose was to stand in as the dutiful daughter.

I used to crave a relationship with my mother, to feel that special connection between a mother and a daughter, to know she loved me. Hell,