She's my Fucking Daughter! I Have to See Her!, chapter 4

***Nobody's POV***

I sighed as I walked down the hall to my room. My hair flowed behind me and my sneakers squeaked as I walked. Mom's boyfriend called. Steve.

I don't like Steve. It's not that I have anything against him or anything, it's just that he tries a little too hard to be a father figure. He's always taking me places and buying me things. I know, I know. "How can that get on a person's nerves?" Well, he does it a little too much. He just does it to score with my mo. I know. I've heard him say it.

My mom's pretty good-looking so, you can't really blame him. She's in her early thirties, but, she looks like she's in her early twenties. I don't really look like her. The only thing we really have in common is our love of Green Day and our brown eyes.

Now, I bet you're wondering why my name's "Nobody." It's not my real name, as you might have guessed. My real name is Scarlet. When I was little, my mom would get really drunk and really mad and start slurring things like "You're nobody."

School wasn't any better. I didn't really have any friends. The only "friends" I had were kids who were bribed by their single dads. Get the picture? Anyway, everyone called me "nobody." I'm not the most popular girl in school, as you might have noticed.

The name just sort of stuck. It's not the good kind of nickname, but, I'm used to it.

I flipped on the hallway light to look at the countless pictures hanging on the walls. Mostly of me and Mom. Some of cousins, grandparents, a friend or two. My favorite, though was the one that was hung right outside my bedroom door. It was the one of my mom and Billie Joe Armstrong. She told me she got it right before I was born. She was at one of their concerts and she met him after the show. They actually went out for a while!

I smiled and looked at it as I turned the doorknob. My room's not that big. Our house isn't that big. Mom got it when she was about eighteen. She's had it ever since. She couldn't afford to move. I think she can, now. "There's just so many memories here," she says when I ask her about it. She tells me the memories, but, I keep feeling like there's something she's not telling me. I think it's about my real dad. The one I've never met. The one that left Mom and I here alone. The one that left his daughter behind.

The one that left me behind.