Relationships are overrated. Disney brainwashes us to believe that true love will solve anything. But, if they continue the stories, those relationships will eventually crumble. A girl will cry as she realizes that her prince charming had been using her all along. A crowd will weep as they mourn the death of their past friends. The careful selection of ending glamorizes relationships by pausing just minutes before the betrayal. This realization solves the problems of pain—at least it does for me.

Perhaps my parents' relationship is on the cusp of crumbling, or else why would they abandon me at my grandparents' house to go on a honeymoon? There has to be something else going on, but it's their issue to figure out; I already have enough personal dilemmas to deal with, such as the woman before me.

"Hello? Oh, Carys?" a woman asks as she swings the door open.

I look up, my eyes widening as I snatch my hands away from the peeling doorframe. My left hand clutches my black suitcase, which she reaches for. Nudging her waxy hand away, I step away from the door. Her wide smile, accompanied by too much lipstick, falters, and her hand reaches to tuck a lock of blond hair behind her ears.

"Gia!" Mom shouts from the car, her voice cracking. "Take care of Carys and say hi to Mom for me. I wish I can stay for a while, but our plane is departing in, uh, two hours."

"God, Daphne, I can't believe you just abandoned your kid like this. And yes, I'll say hi to Mom for you," Gia says, chuckling as the car engine grumbles again.

I can't believe mom either. She threw me out of the small social bubble of my old town, where I know who to avoid and where people know to avoid me. Now, at Kensington, I must guess my way through and—to my horror—make new connections. She must be nuts if she thinks that I've recovered from the incident.

Gia steps back into the small cottage, and I take a step into the house. A melange of aromas from candles and beef stew invites me into the house. The rug itches my feet as my flip-flops sink into the musty carpet. The air conditioning, although blasting overhead, does little to cool the room. The TV is running on mute, showing a reporter from CNN as she narrates the news—most likely tragic ones.

Apparently, this is where my mom grew up. I scrunch up my nose at the overwhelming cheer of the house. From the smells and decorations alone, this family chippers and owns pillows with motivational quotes. This isn't my type of house: it's too welcoming and homey.

"Carys, I can carry your suitcases for you. Mom—your grandma—is at the park, and the others are somewhere. I'll show you to your room. By the way, I'm your aunt, because Daph probably hasn't told you that," Gia says, her red acrylic nails grabbing at my suitcase.

"Actually, I can carry it myself," I say, giving her a forced smile as I fidget with my hair tie.

"If you insist. By the way, you're sharing a room with your cousin. It's just that our house is a little small for five people to have their separate rooms. If you want, I can make Alaina sleep in my room for the month. Oh! I can make Alaina take the attic too. Up to you," she says, leading me upstairs. I grunt as I lift my suitcase, which is too heavy for the number of things it holds.

"Um, is it fine if I take the attic?"

"Are you sure? I can always make Alaina take it."

"Yeah, I'm sure."

That shut her up. My mind buzzes from the few minutes of interaction, and even my limbs grow heavier with each word she spoke. Although I had volunteered to sleep with mice in the attic, anything is better than the endless talking from Gia and rooming with Alaina. At least cleaning cobwebs from the ceiling will offer me some solace.

"You sure you don't need help with carrying that?" Gia asks, looking down from the top of the stairs.

I shake my head, tightening my grip. She reminds me that my arm is aching from carrying the suitcase, and how my feet are numb from sitting in the car for three hours. Still, despite my throbbing limbs, I trudge until we reach the attic.

The floor creaks as we step into it. A thin layer of dust hovers over the carpeted floor, and I cough as the musty air makes its way into my body. My hands let go of the suitcase, dropping it beside the doorway as Gia opens the windows.

"Sorry about this. You sure you wanna sleep here? I mean, this has the only king-sized bed and all, but no one ever comes up here," Gia says, plopping onto the bed—a bare mattress—as it groans.

"It's fine," I say.

"Should've guessed. Daph told me that you're a little on the quieter side. But, she did request for us to make you a little more social—"

"She doesn't know what she's talking about."

"She's your mother, Carys. Though I'm not your mom, I'm damn persistent that I'll get you out of your shell."

"You don't need to do that—"

"Shush, let me finish," Gia says as she dismisses my words with a wave of her hand. "I've already made it easier for you: I found you a job."

My jaw hangs open, and my eyes widen as her grin expands. A job requires communication with my coworkers. Especially in a beach-side town like this, I'll either be working with a mean blonde or a cocky surfer—or both, if the universe intends on making my life more miserable.

"The job is at the local amusement park. Daph told me that you liked those, and I remember her always talking about how you begged to work there. It's a pretty famous park too, so the pay's pretty good," Gia rambles on, her white teeth villainous as they shine in the sunlight.

My insides crumble as I try to process her words. An amusement park? My mother is either out of her mind or trying to make me suffer. She—out of everyone in the world—should know that even seeing a rollercoaster will make me panic. Yet, she makes me work there, where on top of my panic over rollercoaster, I'll also have to face the humiliation from a year ago.

"Why?" I ask. My hands reach for the wall to steady myself.

"Ask your mom, it's her idea." Gia shrugs, and I press my nails into the wall. My mother—whom I always believed to be one of the more lenient ones—is now trying to ruin my life with her schemes. First, shipping me off to Kensington to live with strangers; and now, forcing me to work at a location where I've had both the most embarrassing and the worst moment of my life. Despite my supposed attitude towards her for the last years, there's no justification for this torture. My school counselor preached "small steps at a time", yet my mother is doing the exact opposite.

Sure, I haven't been taking those small steps after Milly's accident, but to rush me into this giant leap is just ridiculous.

"Are you alright?" Gia asks, and I crack my jaw as I nod.

"Can I get another job?" I ask.

"I mean, if you want to. It's just that when we agreed to take you in for the month, your mother promised that you'll be earning a steady income. "

"She never told me that!"

"Carys, calm down. The thing is, ever since your grandma retired, and when your cousin lost her job, we've been struggling a little. I mean, I can try to negotiate and figure out the situation with Daphne."

"How long have you been communicating with my mother?"

"I'm always talking to her." Gia looks at me, frowning as she speaks, "do you not know that?"

I shake my head, gulping in a breath as panic clouds my chest. All this time, my mother has been communicating with my "long lost" relatives and arranging the most triggering events behind my back. It's baffling how I even trusted her in the first place. I should've expected my mom to ruin our relationship, based on my past luck.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry. But, you will take the job, right?" Her eyes plead as she looks at me, her gaze unwavering. I tense under her gaze.

"Yeah," I say, my voice scratchy.

It's my fault—my fault that they're struggling with money. If I had only put my relationships aside, I would've won ten thousand dollars in the competition last year to support them. So now, it should be my duty to support them and make up for the money that I've lost.

My face burns as I think of that day and the way I had scurried off the stage. At least, thank god, I haven't seen the boy since then. Even after a year of consideration, I haven't decided on how to deal with him—other than moving away permanently. I chuckle. This summer has been so bad that Jordan's absence seems to be the only positive aspect of my life.

"Can I just have a moment to myself?" I ask, trying to sound respectful despite the chaos in my mind.

"You sure? You don't need a tour of the house or anything—"

"I'm sure," I interrupt. I had to because if I didn't, I will scream at her next word.

Gia looks away and shuts the door behind her. I try to calm my breathing to the beat of her footsteps as she walks downstairs. When the pounding ceases, I crash onto the bed and cursed myself for letting this happen. I coughed again as dust flies off the mattress and erupts into the air.

Everything could've been solved if I had never gotten close to them. Nevermind the moments where Milly and I giggled because the only moment I remember is the one where she fell. The gifts that Jordan and I exchanged are worthless compared to the loss that it caused me to suffer.

I reach for the golden locket resting on my collarbone. My overgrown nails flick open the locket, revealing the picture of Milly and me from two summers ago. Her auburn strands fly in the air, while my brown ones rest on my shoulders. My smile is too wide, my teeth are too yellow, and my cheeks are too puffy. Yet, her smile is like sunshine, with snow-white teeth gleaming from beneath her pink lips. Now, both of us look worse. Her body is rotting underground, while my figure became rounded.

But now that I'm somewhere new, it almost seems possible that I'll move on. Without her shadows as I walked the halls of high school, maybe I can drop my hyperalertness. I'll break my streak of loneliness and, perhaps, even create bonds like the one with Milly.

God, what the hell am I thinking. I pinch my chubby thighs, cutting off those hopeful thoughts before they infect my spirits. If I am to create new friendships—which I will not allow—it will lead back to the devastation that I must avoid. I've gone lonely for a year already, so another shouldn't be too hard.

I've read somewhere that humans only need basic levels of connectedness to live, so I don't need these friends that the school counselor preaches. After all, it's more of my ex-friends' decision to leave me behind as opposed to mine. Although friends help you live longer, I don't need those years. Extra years lead to extra hurt. If I die early, maybe some things will stay beautiful. But if I live too long, seeing the ruins of beauty is worse than death itself.

God, these philosophical thoughts are getting too depressing—even for me. So I sit up and dig my phone from my pocket. My muscular memory leads me to Instagram, where the only acceptable outlet of release waits for me. Turner Michaelson has already flooded my inbox. I smile. Thank god someone hasn't given up on me yet.