Knock. Knock.

My eyes snapped open from the sudden knocks coming from my window. I pushed myself up from my bed, and heard the window being pushed open. I reached under my pillow swiftly and pulled out my switchblade. I was about to click the blade open, when a familiar blonde crawled through the small window and pushed away the blinds. I let down my guard and put the blade back under my pillow. Erica smiled brightly at me. "Good morning," she beamed.

I rubbed my eyes, wondering how she could possibly be this happy so early in the morning. "What time is it?" I groaned.

Erica walked over to my bed and sat on the edge, fiddling with her fingers while she thought about my question. "Around 10:30," she answered. "John and Todd are outside."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Why?"

"We figured that we could go get breakfast before the robbery," she answered excitedly. "And go over some last minute details."

"Right," I yawned and nodded. "Okay, well, I'll get ready." I swung my legs over the side of my bed and stood up. I walked over to my dresser and began pulling out clothing: a grey t-shirt, black jeans, and my leather jacket. I grabbed my backpack off the floor, and lazily draped it over my right shoulder. Then, I lifted up my pillow and pulled my switchblade from underneath, shoving it into my back pocket.

Erica cleared her throat uncomfortably. When I turned around, she had an alarmed look on her face. "Do you always keep that under your pillow?" She pointed towards the knife in my pocket.

I glanced down at my pocket and looked back up at Erica. "You never know," I shrugged.

"What happens if you accidentally turn in your sleep and it switches open?" She asked with a concerned look.

"Well," I crossed my arms over my chest and smirked. "That would be pretty unfortunate," I joked.

Erica scoffed, while rolling her eyes. "I'm serious!" She threw her hands up dramatically. "It happens all the time."

"Oh yeah?" I chuckled. "Name one person that's happened to."

She thought for a moment, her mouth opened but then closed. I smirked and laughed softly. "That's what I thought."

Erica rolled her eyes and tried to conceal her smile. "Whatever.. all I'm saying is you never know what's gonna happen." She spoke in a more serious tone.

I nodded and uncrossed my arms, sending Erica a small, genuine smile. She returned the gesture too.

I began walking towards my window, turning around before exiting. "Ready to go?"

Erica pulled her arms behind her back and leaned back and forth on her feet. "Well, before we go..."

I sighed and shifted my weight to my left leg. "What now?"

"Do you have any money to pay for breakfast?" Erica asked innocently. I rolled my eyes and gave her an 'are you serious' look. She smiled sheepishly and nodded.

"Fine," I gave in. "Just wait here, I'll be right back."

Erica nodded an 'okay' and sat back down on my bed. I signed and walked over to my bedroom door, turning the knob and opening it. I have a feeling I'll regret this.

I stepped out of my room and into the hallway, shutting my door behind me. The floors creaked softly as I made my way towards the dreaded room. Cracks lined the walls, along with mold that was beginning to form. There were no more photos, not any more at least. There were no more signs of the family that used to live here. I've grown used to it over the years, but every now and then I miss the life I used to have. I often find myself awake at night wondering if my dad would fulfill his promise of coming back, or if he just forgot about me and started a new life with some other family. Even if he did find something else, I try to convince myself that he just can't find me. Maybe he forgot where the apartment is or maybe he thought we moved. Truth is.. we never left and I'll probably never see my dad again. That thought doesn't scare me as much as it used to though.

I sighed as my hand held onto the doorknob of my mother's room. Pushing all thoughts aside, I turned the handle quietly and stepped into her room. It was dark and cold. Clothes were left in piles on the floor and on her bed, half of them probably weren't even hers. Discarded beer bottles were carelessly left around the room, causing me to roll my eyes at her addiction. I moved through the bedroom soundlessly, shuffling through some drawers in search of cash. Finally, I found $20 underneath suspicious bags filled white powder. Definitely drugs. With the money in one hand, I closed the drawer, turned on my heal and began making my way towards the door.

I pulled the door open and was met with my mother. Her arms were crossed lazily across her chest, and she held a beer bottle in one hand. Dark bags encircled her eyes. Her hair was a knotted mess. She looked awful.

"Diana," she addressed me.

"Mary," I replied emotionless.

She chuckled bitterly and took a swig of her alcohol. "Mary," she repeated. "Since when did you call me that? Huh?"

I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes at her. "Since you stopped being my mother." I pushed passed her and began walking away, but felt her grab my wrist. She yanked my arm back, and forced my to face her.

"That my money?" She nodded towards the cash in my hands.

"No," I lied.

"Liar," she seethed. Her grip on my wrist tightened and the look on her face was cold.

I copied her expression. "I'm not lying," I denied as I yanked my arm out of her grasp.

"I know you are you little bitch," she shouted angrily, and shoved me into the wall. A gasp escaped my lips as I felt my back slam into the wall. My eyes met hers and a scowl formed on my face.

"You know you should stop treating me like shit because one day I'm going to be gone too," I snapped.

"Where ya gonna go, Diana?" She mocked.

I shrugged and rolled my eyes. "Anywhere is better than here," I admitted.

She laughed and pointed at me. "You have nothing without me!"

"Yeah? Well, so did dad, but he left!" I growled.

"Diana don't be such an idiot. You're father left without you!" She smiled darkly. She knew I hated talking about the day my dad left. I felt my eyes glaze over, but the last thing I'd do is cry. Crying made me feel weak, and I would never give her the satisfaction of getting under my skin.

"At least he loved me," I responded harshly. "The only reason he stuck around was for me because he always hated you."

A flash of pain crossed my mother's face, but that was quickly replaced with anger. She was practically fuming with rage, but I stood tall with a smirk along my lips. She noticed my confidence, and in one quick motion, slapped me across the face. I reached my hand up to my cheek, and narrowed my eyes at her. My cheek burned with pain, and there would definitely be a red mark leftover later. I took a few steps back, "I hate you," were my last words to her before I turned on my heel and walked back into my room. As I shut the door I could hear her sick laughter along with the sound of another beer bottle being opened.